


With Him

by Medusa (MyOhMandy)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Finale Plot Divergence, First Time, Fluff, M/M, Murder Husbands, Not Everybody Lives, dark!Will, plot divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-04-18 04:34:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4692251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyOhMandy/pseuds/Medusa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Will hadn't brought the two of them rushing towards the sea; if he'd been too moved by the thought of dying, and of the look in Hannibal's eyes.<br/>Post-Finale, romance, murder, revenge and a new conclusion to the stories of our supporting cast and, of course, Will and Hannibal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hannibal

**Author's Note:**

> So, I watched the finale on thursday and this has just sort of been brewing in my mind ever since.  
> I've been debating on whether or not I should take this any further! So please, please, let me know if that's something you'd want, and leave a comment or kudos!

“See? This is all I ever wanted for you, Will. For both of us.” Will braced himself against Hannibal breathlessly. Hannibal’s right arm was holding him up.

“It’s beautiful.” his hand gripped Hannibal’ shoulder tightly.

There was a current in the air between them, and Hannibal’s eyes weren’t warm or comforting, but they were glittering and Will knew Hannibal could  _see_ him. Hannibal's arms were built to break more than to put together, but they were holding him. Will hadn’t been born to this life, but he could live with it, for this moment, in Hannibal’s arms.  The moment felt almost like a bullet in his chest, knocking him back, but it was pushing him forward instead of back, and then they were kissing.

Hannibal held Will’s forearm in one hand, the other gripping Will’s shirt. His eyes fluttered closed and he felt as if he were a man lost in a desert like he'd wandered for weeks only to find himself in a pool of water, unsure if it was real, but rejoicing all the same. He was in Will’s arms, their heavy breath smothered against one another’s lips, and he had water.

Their breath was short; the kiss didn’t last long. Hannibal tasted Will’s blood on his lips, and Will tasted Dolarhyde’s on his own.

Will laid his face against Hannibal’s chest. He could hear his heart pounding in his chest, grounding him to the moment with each beat. Hannibal rested his head against Will’s, both wholly succumbed to the moment.

“What are you thinking?” Hannibal asked breathily.

“I’m wondering about your heart. It’s...pounding.”

“As is yours,” Hannibal said, his head resting against Will’s.

“I...I’ve never felt like this before. I didn’t know this feeling existed.”

“I had dreamt of this moment, and of this feeling,” Hannibal admitted. “And yet until now I could only scrape at its existence and try to show you the way, hoping that you might one day meet me here.”

Will didn’t look over the edge of the cliff. He could hear the rush of water against the bluffs below, whispering up into his ear. He resisted the urge to look over the edge; he wasn’t ready to lift his head from Hannibal’s shoulder. His heart twisted in his chest, betraying leap it’d taken when he’d kissed Hannibal. He tried to push the thought away, but it came regardless; **_when he dies, I die with him_**. He could feel their hearts beating together, and the feeling of Hannibal’s trust in his arms was overwhelming. **_Now or never_**. Will pulled back to see Hannibal’s face, their foreheads pressed together. He had never seen Hannibal behave so passively, and he wondered idly if this was what Hannibal looked like after coition. He bookmarked the moment in his heart. ** _I can die, if we die together_**. He felt tears spring to his eyes, and he wanted to kiss him again. He’d never felt so connected with a person in his entire life like their souls had grown together. **_This is it_**. He braced himself for the push--

Hannibal nudged his face up and kissed him, his hand moving to hold Will’s face in his palm.

“Not today.” Hannibal said, pressing his lips at the curve of Will’s mouth, the words smudged between them. Will tried to choke down a sob. “Not today. Look at me.”

Will met his eyes again. Hannibal wiped the tears off Will’s face with his thumb, smearing  them through the blood. “You shouldn’t worry so much,” he kissed him again, deeper, gently, tasting the blood in each other’s mouths. “Come,” Hannibal said after a long moment. “We ought to go inside, and see to each other.”

The leaned on each other as they made their way through the broken glass, Hannibal depositing Will carefully on a dining room chair before stumbling to his bathroom, returning with a heavy metal case of medical supplies. It had been easier to ignore the pain before, feeling seized by ecstasy and fear and love. Now Will was wincing again, hand pressing to the wound in his face. Hannibal kneeled in front of Will, breathing deeply through his own pain.

“Is this the first time you’ve used that to help someone?” Will asked, his head back against the chair as the pain returned.

“Not at all,” Hannibal replied, his voice almost cool despite the pain he must’ve been in.

“Is this the first time you’ve used that to help someone you didn’t kidnap?”

“Yes,” he sounded amused. “Now, I'll need you to stay conscious.” Hannibal held Will’s face up to look at him. “Can you unbutton your shirt?” Hannibal asked.

“I can try,” Will said, wincing as his hands fumbled at the buttons. Hannibal watched him get half way down, then brushed his hands away.

“You can move your right arm,” Hannibal observed approvingly. “And it’s range of motion seems relatively normal, considering the circumstances. Your brachial plexus is undamaged,” he held Will’s hand for a moment. “It’s alright. Let me help you, ” His touch was gentle and efficient, unbuttoning the shirt and spreading it open to reveal the wound. He had a spray bottle in his hand with cold, sterile water in it.

“This feels oddly familiar,” Will said sarcastically. “You...you’re going to clean it with that?” Will asked. “There’s...too much blood.”

“I only need to clean the wounds for now,” Hannibal replied, a white cotton cloth in his hand. “You can shower later, after we have rested.” He sprayed the water onto the stab wound on Will’s face and Will flinched. Hannibal held him in place, through  a long process of _spray, wince, dab. Spray, wince, dab. Spray, wince, dab_. “I have local anesthetic I could use,” Hannibal offered nonchalantly when the work was nearly done.

“Don’t,” Will replied. “Not yet.”

A smile tipped onto Hannibal’s lips, and he brought out the needle and silk to pull the wound together after he applied a disinfectant that made Will groan, jaw locked, with his hands threatening to damage the chair. Hannibal stitched up his cheek, and then repeated the process on his chest, not offering the anesthetic this time.

“Your turn,” Will said, looking at the gauze covering new stitches on his chest. Hannibal stood, slowly, the pain showing in an honest way on his face. He pulled the adjacent chair from the table and half fell down into it. Will hunched over and picked up the spray bottle and a handful of gauze packs. He ripped the shirt down the middle and then, as carefully as he could, slipped Hannibal’s right arm out of it.

“You are not so delicate as I was,” Hannibal observed.

“Well, I know your arms work, and the shirt is ruined,” Will replied dryly. “Would you like an anesthetic, doctor?”

He cleansed the wound ardently, as Hannibal had, on his knees between Hannibal’s legs,  pressing the gauze to it the bullet wound gingerly, leaning closer so he could wrap the medical tape around Hannibal’s waist. There was a black, leather case in larger metal one, and he unzipped it  and found the syringes with several small glass bottles, some full, some nearly empty. The anesthetic was almost unused. Hannibal injected once Will’s face, and another beneath his collarbone, his grip tight on Will’s jaw for the first and massaging into his shoulder for the second. In response, Will made a show doing the same when it was his turn; he pressed Hannibal back into the chair for the injection, but he kissed him after he put the syringe on the table, hand wrapped around the back of Hannibal’s head to pull him closer, their eyes falling shut and their lips moving together reflexively, as if their bodies had been expecting this moment longer than either of them had. It was another short kiss, another movement more into themselves, and each other. He noticed bruise forming on the left-hand side of Hannibal’s jaw where Francis had kicked him, and he smiled at it contentedly.

Will stood and Hannibal led him down a hallway into a dark bedroom. Will paused at the entrance and kicked his shoes off to the side of the door, carefully struggling out of his bloody dress shirt. starting to fumble at his belt buckle, his shoulder heavy with the effects of anesthesia, his arm’s usefulness lesser and lesser.

Hannibal noticed and gave him a slightly amused look, his expression only visible because of the moon glowing through the glass walls. Will let his hands drop away with a sigh. He leaned back against the doorframe, waiting. Hannibal went to undo the belt buckle smugly, his left hand on Will’s hip bone, thumb drawing circles over it, while his right gently tugged the belt out of the loops.

“Would you succumb to me like this?” Hannibal asked, his voice low and thick, the belt folded in his right hand.

“Like this?” Will was leaning back against the wall, but his hips had risen slightly off the support, jutted forward, his breathing still heavy as the pain ebbed away, sweat and dried blood shining in the moonglow. “I think I’d rather fight you for it.”

“Of course,” Hannibal smiled, eyes glinting.

“Maybe someday. If you earn it.”

Will moved to the bed, pausing and pulling his black dress pants off before sliding to the left side of the mattress in his underwear, eyes on the rolling black Atlantic sea as he settled under the sheets, the crests of the waves highlighted under the moon. He heard Hannibal shuffling out of his own pants behind him, and a moment later he felt Hannibal slide into the bed behind him. The room was silent except for the sea, its waves beating hard against the bluff.

“There was a moment there when I--”

“I know, Will.” a pause. “Do think you would have felt satisfaction in killing me now?”

“Not killing you, Hannibal. If you die, I die,” he said honestly. “I was ready for you to die. For me to die. But I wasn’t ready...for us to die.” He felt Hannibal’s arm slide around his chest, breath on his neck, and Will shifted back towards him, his skin cold against Hannibal’s warmth. Will rested his hand over Hannibal’s.

“My dear boy,” he said fondly, pressing a kiss to Will’s neck and inhaling a deep breath. “You have fallen from grace, right into my arms.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of this would likely focus Will and Hannibal's on conclusions with Jack, Bedelia, Alana and Margot and maybe some final closure with Abigail's death, as well as a better look at the dynamic they'd build going forward. If that's something you're interested in, let me know!


	2. About Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal and Will discuss their options.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! I had been hoping to get this chapter out last monday, but well, Life happened.  
> I've only lightly edited this chapter as I wanted to get it out as soon as possible, and so as soon as I can I'll go through and touch stuff up, like I did after posting the first.

When Will woke the next morning, he was in a sea of pain. He rolled onto his back and spent a moment searching for Molly. It was only  _after_ a few minutes of pained mumbling, that he was able to cut through the fog of lingering sleep and pain and realize he wasn't at home. He groaned loudly, but it only made the stabbing pain in his face greater. Alarmed, he moved to sit up and collapsed back onto the bed in pain that jolted through his shoulder.

“H-Hannibal...” the named fluttered through his lips, but it took him a moment to remember why. There were tears of pain streaming down his face. “Hannibal!” he cried out, unable to focus on anything as the pain came on him, his breath heaving.

“Will?” he heard Hannibal’s voice, sounding far away, and then immediate, close. He was standing over Will, his figure blurred. Will felt Hannibal’s hand on his stomach, pressing him into the bed, and Will grabbed his arm despite the pain the movement caused.“Hold still.” he felt a prick in his face, and another in his chest a moment later.

“Hannibal...” he croaked desperately.

“Relax now, Will,” he said, “give yourself a moment. Breathe deeply, slowly, wade through the pain.” Will took longer, deeper breaths. “Wade through the pain, Will,” Hannibal used his free arm to run his fingers through Will’s hair comfortingly, waiting. “Remember where you are.”

“Where I...the bluff...” he sighed, remembering. “the bluff. I remember.” Hannibal’s figure began to come into focus, He was wearing a navy blue robe with white lining, tied at the front almost professionally, the arms cinched an inch after the elbow, and his skin hair was wet, his skin still damp, the bruise on his jaw black and fully formed now. “You took a shower,” he said, sounding incredulous.

Whatever Hannibal had expected him to say, it wasn’t this. He laughed, the hand holding Will in place loosening up as he sat on the edge of the bed. Will let go of the arm, but it stayed there, keeping Will’s heart at his fingertips.

“Not very sanitary,” Hannibal replied, nodding. “to cook breakfast while covered in the blood of a dragon. You should have one yourself, and then we can prepare our meal.”

It Will took another ten minutes to  climbed out of bed, his shoulder and face awkward with numbness, and by then Hannibal was in the kitchen, starting breakfast without him.

“The longer you take,” he’d said, slowly rising from the bed, “the less you can contribute.”  He left a tall bottle of water on the bedside, reminding him he’d need to make up for the blood loss. He’d given Will a multivitamin to keep his iron levels healthy  as well, Hannibal holding him in a sitting position gingerly (the anesthetic still taking effect) and bringing the water to his lips so the pill wouldn’t get stuck in his throat.

It was a three bar shower consisting of a large rain shower head, massage jets, and a stainless steel hand jet, and the water was warm without pause when he turned the shower on, fogging the shower glass. The glass had been mostly clear when he’d come in, the humidity from a warm shower spread from the bathroom to the hall. He wondered if Hannibal had showered with the door open. Hannibal had Allure shower gel and two expensive conditioners, one for curly hair that smelled like mint juleps left out for him. Hannibal left out his thirty dollar after-shave and shaving razor neatly on the counter, and a dark gray robe hung on the back of the door, and a pair of  neatly folded boxer shorts over a towel. He opened the cabinet and found a packaged toothbrush waiting for him. The boxers he’d been wearing were gone.

“Good afternoon, Will,” Hannibal said, looking over his shoulder as Will entered the kitchen. “You’re just in time, get the whisk, would you?”

Will helped Hannibal prepare their breakfast though it was past eleven and Will guessed that Hannibal was accustomed to eating much earlier. Hannibal watched Will cook with a bemused look, and though it wasn’t a difficult meal to make, the salmon pre-smoked, Will was right-handed, which made whisking more difficult with the anesthetic in full affect on his shoulder.

They ate blinis with smoked salmon, scrambled eggs and Venezuelan coffee prepared with a french press, and when they sat at the table, Hannibal at the head and Will to his right, the hush of the sea pushing against the bluffs was still playing the background. Hannibal presented their breakfast with a flourish, and Will knew that though he hadn’t said it, Hannibal was more interested in presenting the food to him than he had been in preparing it with him. Somethings could be shared, but needn’t be.

“I’m surprised.” Will admitted. The anesthetic in his face made it more difficult to talk, and Will had to take extra time forming his words. “No red meat for breakfast?” he asked, sipping the coffee.

“Are you disappointed?” Hannibal asked, amused. “The dragon will have his day. I have a dish planned special for us,”

“I look forward to the surprise,” Will said, smiling. “Am I wearing Ralph Lauren boxers?” his voice intoned a teasing incredulity.

“Are you?”Hannibal slipped the same tone back. “There are more clothes for you in the wardrobe of the bedroom though I suspect they will run a little large; it appears family life has made made you thinner.”

“What’s our next move?” Will asked after breakfast. Will was standing at the patio where Francis Dolarhyde’s corpse had once been. They’d pushed him over the edge of the cliff awkwardly, trying not to make their injuries worse in the process.  

~~~~~

“Our time here is drawing to a close,” Hannibal said, a few days later. “We have other appointments to make.”

“Appointments like Bedelia du Maurier?”

“Among others.” he replied agreeably.

“Who should we attend to first?”

“Jack brought us together. It seems rude not to call on him first.”

“Jack will be wanting to know I killed you.”

“All the same.”

“We should take care of Bedelia first,” Will replied. “Jack can make what he wants of her disappearance.”

Hannibal looked at him curiously, a spark in his eyes. Will was looking out at the stars from behind the broken glass, leaning against an empty window pane. Hannibal sat at the harpsichord, playing the Goldberg Variations.  There was a half empty open bottle of rose wine on the dining room table, one glass on the harpsichord and another in Will’s hand. There was a roseate glow on Will’s face; he’d started the evening with scotch to soften the edges and now the wine was making him a bit edgy.

“Is that so?” Hannibal asked, a knowing look on his face.

“She’ll run,” Will said, “They don’t know we’re alive.  The longer we wait, the farther she’ll get.”  his voice was bitter.

“We can only learn so much and live.”  Hannibal agreed. “There are other debts to settle.”

“Not Alana.”

“Not just Alana,” Hannibal corrected. “I must confess to you: I'm giving serious thought to eating your wife.”

“Hannibal,” Will said, turning to look at him reproachfully. Hannibal stopped playing, turning to look at him. He wouldn’t let Molly and Walter get dragged into this any more than they already had.

“You still wear your wedding band,” Hannibal replied, coolly speculative, “are you clinging to the life you left behind?”

Will looked down at his hand in surprise. He’d _forgotten_ he was wearing it. After two years of marriage, it had become a habit. Seeing it there on his hand was odd; had he been wearing it when they’d killed Francis Dolarhyde? When he held Hannibal in his arms and contemplated killing himself? How much of his betrayal of morality had it seen? He didn’t move, only stared at it, like he’d never seen it before.

Hannibal stood from the bench at the harpsichord, and stood perpendicular to Will, both of them looking at the ring.

“I didn’t even realize I was wearing it,” he finally admitted, looking at Hannibal, then back at his hand. “I..” When the Red Dragon had kidnapped him, Will had known there was only one way to kill him, to kill Hannibal, and he’d accepted his own fate as a part of that. As much as part of him wanted to go back to Molly and Walter, Hannibal had been right: the spell was broken. There was no safety until the dragon was caught, and there would be no peace, even after, for him with Molly. “I’m here, Hannibal.”

Hannibal took Will’s hand in his, holding it with one hand and gently sliding the ring off with the other. He tossed it in the pool of dried blood where Francis Dolarhyde had died.

His hand glided to Will’s face, pulling him into a kiss, careful around stitches. He was taking three ibuprofen every twelve hours for the pain and the stitches were almost due out. They were keeping a close eye on their wounds, now, but Hannibal’s gunshot wound was the only one they still bothered to gauze up. There had been no sign of infection, and though they had antibiotics, they were grateful. The air between them had been a new sort of awkward for Will, who was still coming to terms with his new realization about Hannibal. At night, they slept in the same bed, but Will’s apprehension was obvious and Hannibal never touched him, so they went to bed on opposite sides of the mattress, eyes open and apprehensive.

That said, Hannibal woke every morning to find Will on his side of the bed, sometimes quietly shuddering in his dreams, ankles tangled together. Hannibal always woke first and said nothing of this. There was another bedroom, and a couch and Will didn’t need to sleep in this bed if he didn’t want to. But he’d spent years getting to this point, and he was feeling a familiar apprehension when it came to this. He had lightly broached the subject once, and Will had said he didn’t want to talk about it, though he his mannerisms had the inclinations of a lover or a close friend who didn’t have as much difficulty expressing intimacy as Will did, putting his hand on Hannibal’s forearm and standing closely while they were talking, allowing Hannibal to over-instruct him in the kitchen and occasionally putting his hand on Hannibal’s knee during meals, if he was sitting on the left side.

Right now, with Hannibal’s hand on his face, eyes intense and emotive, Will was suddenly taken aback to the night, years ago, during the murder investigation with Peter Bernardone and Clark Ingram.

“With all my knowledge and intrusion, I could never entirely predict you,” he’d said, moving to hold Will’s face like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he couldn’t help himself. His eyes had glittered with pride, and what Will now knew could only have been love. He wanted to ask Hannibal if he’d thought about kissing him then, but he thought he knew the answer.

Will shifted so that their bodies were facing each other as they kissed and put a hand on Hannibal’s neck. Hannibal pressed him back against the window frame and Will let out a cry of pain, a few spare shard of glass still sticking out of the frame jabbing him in the back. He pulled out of the kiss, hand reaching back to feel blood staining his shirt.

“Let me see,” Hannibal said, looking at the blood on Will’s hand.  Hannibal stepped back and eased Will forward, off the glass; Will shuddered in pain.

“It’s fine,” he said, as Hannibal unbuttoned his shirt to look at it. “Stop it.”

Hannibal paused.

“Your shirt is ruined.” he said.

“Just kiss me,” Will replied, trying to keep the emotion from his voice.

The new intimacy between them created new parts of the other to explore. Will had been with his share of women, Hannibal his share of people--in multiple senses--but for both of them, this was entirely new. Will kissed with the behavior of a man in a new country, nervous and excited, but most of all learning. Hannibal kissed the way a ship follows a lighthouse in a storm, with the urgent relief of guarded hope. It was different from when they’d first kissed when in the moment, he’d been able to forget his anxieties and see Will, be seen by Will, and had known in that moment on the edge of the cliff, in the post-mortem euphoria when he’d steadied Will’s wavering heart on the cliff, that Will was his. When Will had felt like a man reaching to god after years of bitter atheism, surrendering to the greater powers of the universe.

They stood there for a long time, lost in each other’s breath, the night growing colder around them. Hannibal’s left hand was on Will’s spine, and it was growing slicker with blood. They needed to see to it, but neither was ready to break the embrace.

“My whole life,” Will huffed against Hannibal’s lips. “was leading up to this moment.”

“Our state cannot be severed, we are one, One flesh; to lose thee were to lose myself,” Hannibal said. “Your hands are mine as much as they are yours,” his fingers, which had slid into up into Will’s hair, brushed along Will’s face again. “my heart is yours, as much as it ever was mine. And our skin is bleeding,” he drew back, “we should attend to you now.”

It took a great bit of internal strength to refocus their attentions. The blood made Will’s shirt stick to his skin, and he had to take care in peeling it off, as it had already begun to dry. He had always been more of a bleeder, but with luck, the blood wouldn’t ruin his pants or his belt. He was going to need a shower, though.

He grabbed a T-shirt and boxers from the bottom drawers of the dresser in the bedroom, wincing.

“Hannibal,” Will called into the hall. “do we have any shirts that aren’t...” he paused. “Expensive? I don’t want to ruin any more clothes.”

Hannibal was in the bathroom, getting the hot water running.

“Nothing you could happily bleed into,” Hannibal admitted, raising an eyebrow as he stepped out of the bathroom doorway. Will sighed and nodded, putting the t-shirt back into the drawer. He found the linen closet to the left of the bedroom door and spread a spare towel on the bed in case the wounds opened again overnight. Will undid his belt as he walked to the bathroom, and started to unbutton his pants in front of the mirror when he realized Hannibal was watching him.

“Uhm,” Will said awkwardly. His body had been excited by the kissing, and he was suddenly very embarrassed.

“If we want to save your clothes, we should put them straight into the machine,” Hannibal replied, nonplussed, but he turned around respectfully. “And I had thought to look at the cuts,” Will paused, then took the rest of his clothes off and handed them to Hannibal, who was still respectfully turned away when Will closed the bathroom door.

The cuts didn’t feel too bad. Will had a more familiar experience with pain than most people, and they didn’t seem like they’d give him much trouble.

Hannibal was waiting for him in pajama pants when he walked out of the bathroom, and the disinfectant he used to clean the wounds, this time, was a cream and didn’t burn. His hands were gentle and firm, and Will felt fairly relaxed during the ordeal. Hannibal stood up and washed his hands at the bathroom sink when he was done, having put the medical supplies back in the cabinet. Will climbed into bed and laid down, switching the lamp on his side of the bed off and lying like a corpse on his back.

Hannibal brushed his teeth and followed Will to bed, climbed into bed a moment late, lying down on his side, looking at Will.

“In the morning we should start to pack,” he said casually. “Bedelia will be expecting us, and it would be rude to miss the appointment.”

“I wonder,” Will replied. “I told her to pack her bags.”

“You went to see her?” his voice maintained a gentle curiosity, but inside Will knew he was thrilled.

“More than once,” Will admitted, raising and eyebrow and turning his head to look at Hannibal. “I crashed one of her lectures. She told me if I wanted to talk with her, I’d have to make an appointment. So I did.”

“To talk about me?”

“Yes.” Will didn’t see the point in lying. He looked at the ceiling again. “She told me I hadn’t learned my lesson. I called her Bluebeard’s wife.”

Hannibal was silent.

“She said,” Will inclined his head to his right, but didn’t look at him, “she would have liked to been his last.” He waited for the words to sink in. “Can’t say I wouldn’t echo the sentiment. Though maybe not for all the same reasons.”

“What reasons would you give?”

“You’ve only ever tried to eat me after I’ve tried to kill you,” Will said matter-of-factly. “So that particular fear? Not my concern. But the jealousy? I think I understand that.”

“My relationship with Bedelia was entirely different from ours, Will.”

“Yeah, our relationship was more intimate,” he stole a glance at Hannibal. “But for all of our intimacy, _we_ were never intimate.”

“Are you trying to say something, Will?”

“I had that conversation with Bedelia not long before I did the interview with Freddie Lounds. I don’t know if you read Freddie’s papers--she took it upon herself to dub us _murder husbands_. For her part, Bedelia explained very politely to me that you enjoy leaving scars on me. Marked, like territory.” he said, his voice wrung with bitter sarcasm, and the bitterness drained from his voice like a lanced wound: “but it was that last thing that put things together for me. She would have liked to be his last.” he turned his head, looking at Hannibal in the eyes. “I asked her if you were in love with me.” His heart was pounding, but his face was calm. The wine, like a whisper in his ears, helped him finish the sentence.

Hannibal’s face was like a river in the winter, it’s surface frozen over, life raging on beneath.

“Are you in love with me?” Will’s voice was barely a whisper.

“Irrevocably.” Hannibal’s voice was dark and low. His hand reached out and he touched Will’s face. His expression was vulnerable, open, his thumb rubbing along Will’s jaw beneath the wound, propping himself up on the other elbow.

He leaned in and Will did, too, and they kissed, Hannibal’s hand straying from his face to the back of Will’s neck, pulling him closer, then moving below the wound on Will’s shoulder and gently pushing him back onto his back, out of the kiss.

His hand trailed down, over Will’s chest and resting for a moment on the scar he’d left across Will’s navel.

“It’s true, I’ve marked you,” Hannibal said in a low voice, eyes shining with excitement. “but this is another beast entirely.” his hand rested on Will’s heart. “I had not anticipated wanting this.”

“If you play, you pay,” Will muttered.

“Yes.” Hannibal said, and his smile was small but overly pleased. “Let’s play.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope you enjoyed!  
> If you came here for a sweet, gently murderous conclusion to the story, stop here. After this, we'll be delving into darker stuff, and it'll begin fairly immediately in the next chapter.  
> Proceeding any further would undoubtedly result in the timely attack on our devilish blonde, Bedelia du Maurier. If that's something you'd like, however, let me know!! I feel sort of...out of touch with people's opinions on her but...payday is coming.  
> I love you guys, thank you so much for reading!  
> That is, if y'all think I should continue!  
> Quotes from this chapter include:  
> \- "We can only learn so much and live." - Hannibal (novel)  
> \- "I must confess, I've given serious thought to eating your wife." - Hannibal (novel)  
> \- "Our state cannot be severed, we are one, One flesh; to lose thee were to lose myself." - Paradise Lost


	3. Resilience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm soso sorry this took so long to get out. I keep going out of town, and even when I'm not, I seemed to get swamped until late at night and then I can only work for a couple hours. I want to go back through and clean up this chapter later this week before I really get into the next one, but I couldn't stand the thought of not updating tonight, so it'll have to wait for now.  
> Thank you all for reading, I love you guys so much, and I will do absolutely everything in my power to get the next chapter out before the end of the coming weekend.
> 
> CONTENT WARNING  
> This chapter is going to deal with the elements of Bedelia's story as seen in the after credits scene of The Wrath of the Lamb. Please proceed with caution.

_The ocean lapped loudly against the bow as the sun rose in the sky, pulling orange hues against the blue.  Hannibal stood at the stern of the boat, silently looking at the horizon. The coast had long since disappeared. He smelt of sweat and blood, and faintly, cologne. His clothes were clean, but there was a bag full with bloody discarded things lying on the deck. The salt air rushed through his matted hair like fingers, and wet his skin with sea water. It was less humid this far at out at sea, but he was leaning against the rails and letting it wash over him. He needed to take a shower, and soon; the blood caked on his skin was beginning to irritate it._

_He shouldn’t have lingered here. He’d been weak and now the dust had yet begun to settle on his escape and subsequent disappearance._

_Hannibal closed his eyes and remembered lying in bed the night before he and Will had prepared to visit Bedelia. Will had laid there, staring at him, his assured attitude weakening with every moment, firm look turning dazed, tight lips falling open, his fingers curled into Hannibal’s hair and pulling him close, pushing their lips together. He savored all of their touches, especially these moments he’d never thought to come, but this time, he’d pulled away to look._

_Will’s shudders still echoed in his ears like ghosts; the warmth of his skin seemed to combat the chill wind through his memory. He could smell the wisps of aftershave and sex, and he forgot about the sea. He thought about the way Will had looked at him, his gaze heavy, the blush from the wine flowering on his cheeks, the breathless whisper of his name from Will's lips. He’d almost had to look away, Will's eyes shining softly with acceptance and love, but he’d held the gaze, the moment pulled taut between them. Will’s hand had groped at him in return, the two of them sighing and grappling at each other like lovers meeting after a war, Will’s finishing shudder slipping past his lips undertoned with a groan, looking like heaven. He watched Hannibal through hooded lids; his face still flushed and breath easing through his mouth, the gentle remnants of awe. He was searching for the vulnerability in Hannibal's eyes, and he found it without difficulty. Will had rolled in into a kiss when he saw him growing closer, and afterward had tucked himself against Hannibal, falling asleep easily._

_He’d save that memory, regardless of what had happened after, and what was to come._

 

* * *

 

“Don’t run,” Will said cooly. There was a faint smile on the corner of his lips, smugness glimmering in his eyes. There was an ugly laceration under his right cheekbone, trying to heal.

Bedelia stared at him, eyes dilated in fear, the glass of wine in her hand held so tightly she thought it might shatter. Her face was a mask of frozen fear, her mouth open eyebrows raised and seeming almost frozen in place.

Her eyes darted to the hall, he drank in the scent of her fear. She inhaled slowly, and took a step back, and he waited.

“You can try to run,” he gave a small shrug and nodded towards to door.  

She darted out and into the hallway, dropping the glass and running to the front door of the house. She could hear Will’s footsteps slow, steady following her from the bedroom. She scrambled to the dining room table for her car keys, but, of course, they weren’t there. She panicked, trying to fling the door open. She had a spare set of keys on left front tire.  She flung herself at the front door and tried to thrust it open but it caught, shifting  open an inch but refusing to swing open as she tugged desperately. She stared at the door in confusion only to realize there was a lock and chain, gold and new, screwed and fastened high on the door out of her reach.

Will moved to corner her against the door. There was a short table next to it and she groped under it panickedly, finding the gun. She raised it at him too late; he grabbed her arm, twisted her around, facing away from him and pushed her to her knees, before pressing her face down into the hardwood floor. He crouched over, holding her down with leverage and weight on her hands but she thrashed violently against him, trying to pull her arms free.  “I can honestly say,” Will leaned more of his weight into his restraining grasp. “that for once, I’m happy to see you, Bedelia.”

She struggled under him, grunting and cursing against the floor, her movements twitchy but not without grace. She didn’t scream for help-- _damned_ if she would scream.    

She felt the pads of his fingers press firmly on either side of her neck. She grunted and twisting her body under him to no avail. She could feel the world going fainter, fading until her head fell against the floor with a loud _smack_!

When she woke up, the room swam around her in a bright fog. She could hear Goldberg Variations and for a moment she thought she was dreaming. The lights had been left on, and something felt off, but she couldn’t think what. She tried to scoot into a sitting position and couldn’t. She pushed her hair away from her face and rolled onto her side still feeling something was off. She took slow, deep breaths and came back to herself. Will Graham was alive and in her house. She the smell of food was drifting in through the doorway, she remembered smacking her head on the floor, he’d cut off the circulation in her neck until she’d passed out. She rolled back onto her back and looked out the window; the sun had fallen behind the horizon and it was dark outside, which meant she’d been out for at least an hour, probably more, which meant drugs. She pulled herself into a sitting position and that was when she saw it.

Her left leg was gone.

A gasp of horror burst from her throat and then she screamed, groping at her thigh where the bandages started. Her thoughts ran like flies through her head, rage and terror and horror smacking into each other. _My leg!! They took my leg!! That twitchy little bastard--_

“Bedelia,” Her head jerked up to meet his eyes, and she saw Will Graham leaning against the door frame. She froze for a moment at the sight of him, and then, her body trembling with rage, pulled herself into a sitting position to stare him down.

“What the hell have you done to me?” Her voice was cold, drawn and but biting, the anger leaking into her expression.

“It was Hannibal’s idea,” Will replied smoothly. “He doesn’t need agency in the world anymore.” He gave a small smile, like a schoolboy bashfully confessing to a crush. “He’s in the position to eat you now.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s busy, Bedelia.” he tucked his hands into his pockets, but she thought she saw something awkward in the way his right arm moved.

“Where is the Francis Dolarhyde?” it seemed unlikely to her that the three of them had joined together--the tooth fairy had been a proxy for both of them, and now that they were reunited, they’d hardly need him around, but she needed to be sure. “Is he with you?”

“The Red Dragon...” Will paused, looking out the window, showing her the scarred side of his face. “is in another castle, plaguing other princesses. You’ll be spared that particular humiliation.”

“He’s alive?” her voice was incredulous. “You set him back out there?”  

“Hard to say.  ‘No one can confidently say that he will still be living tomorrow...’ and it was a few tomorrows ago.”

“You wouldn’t have dared,” Francis Dolarhyde had Will’s number. If he was out there, there was nothing to stop him from killing Will’s family.  “Where is Hannibal?”

“I think he wants to make a grand entrance,” He admitted, turning his smile back to her. It made her skin crawl. “This is almost a sort of christening for us.”

“I’m honored,” she replied, her voice cold and dry. “The leg...is an interesting place to start.” Hannibal was going to eat her slowly, or was going to make her suffer, and then let her go, in such a way that she’d never be able to run again. No matter where she went, or what she did, in a way she’d always be vulnerable, always looking over her shoulder. Her heart seethed with rage and fear, and she bit it down. “Are you planning on making this a long visit?”

“We might be,” Will said cooly. Despite the scar on his face, he otherwise looked fairly well put together. His hair was neatly coifed, curls falling onto his forehead over his scar. His clothes, a muted blue button down, sleeves rolled back to the elbows, and black dress pants neatly belted at the waist, looked pressed and fresh. “I hope you weren’t starting to think we wouldn’t show. Friends show their love in times of trouble, not happiness. It’d be...awfully rude if we didn’t spare some time for you.” he chewed over the word rude as he said it.

“He’s drawn you back into his world for good this time.” She sent her eyes boring into his skull. “you’re crossing the rubicon.”

“The rubicon is crossed,” he threw back at her without hesitation, furrowing his eyebrows but not looking away.

“How does it feel? To become?”

“Different,” he admitted. “I’m learning new things about myself every day.” There was a secretive smile on his face that made her stomach clench with revulsion, something in the way he averted his eyes, not ashamed but silently pleased.

“You’re...expanding the boundaries of your intimacy with Hannibal.” She realized. This seemed to take him aback slightly, his gaze turning back to hers slowly, not startled but surprised. The accusation might've seemed coy to an outsider, but it rang loud and obvious between them. She could see immediately that she was right, but any satisfaction the epiphany might have brought her in its discovery was soured by its nature. The silence that held in the wake of it was mocking, though to whom she couldn’t say. “I’m going to be sick,” she said, and she meant it; her stomach was roiling around in her belly now.

“You could call it that,” he replied. She wished she could see his hands; were they bunching with tension? Or loose and easy with the admission? She’d guess the former. “Eating you will take ground in that direction. I think, honestly, Hannibal would’ve been content to come back for you in a few years. It’d be safer, and the longer we take to leave the country, further away Alana can scurry. And...then there's the matter of Jack Crawford.”

“You're timeline seems rushed. Are you two in a hurry here, then?”

“No, not in a hurry. _I_ would like to take my time here, for as long as Hannibal will indulge. I’m in no _hurry_ to chase Alana Bloom.”

Bedelia had, of course, no question in her mind about Hannibal’s intention to eat her. She had hoped though she knew it was unlikely, that Will Graham might be more easily swayed against the tide. Now she could see it was fruitless; perhaps after her death, in the wake of bloodshed, he might quiver, but she could see now his ache to bookend her story. The quiet exchanges of information and jealousy in her office were long since passed; this was both perfunctory and celebratory for him.

She had prepared or tried to, for this eventuality. She had hidden spare keys on the tire of her car, had installed an extra deadlock onto the front door with an extra latch on the back, had left the windows locked and stashed a gun under the table by the door. Will and Hannibal seemed to have planned for these eventualities and had come calling nonetheless. Thinking back, it was more likely than not that Hannibal had found it immediately after breaking in and unloaded it before replacing it under the table if only to see her grope uselessly at the trigger. But there were means of protection other than outright defense or violence, and though he didn't know it, if all went as Will planned, one in the form of Jack Crawford would be acting in her favor due time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! I wanted Bedelia's part to all occur in one chapter originally, but at the rate I'm writing it didn't seem fair.  
> To everyone who's left comments or kudos, thank you so, so much! I read every comment and they all mean the absolute world to me!
> 
> "No one can confidently say that he will still be living tomorrow." and "Friends show their love in times of trouble, not happiness." are both quotes from works by Euripides.


	4. Phone Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and Bedelia discuss the past, Will and Hannibal discuss the present, and Jack decides how to move forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! Here we are! Let me start by quickly saying that to anyone got an email about this work being updated I'm really sorry, your email didn't glitch, I published the chapter late last night and promptly took it down after realizing that just because I was tired didn't mean it was done.  
> I did do some light rewriting on the last chapter this past week, so there are a few [non-major] differences on dialogue I changed my mind about, or things wanted to clarify.  
> There is....so much dialogue in this chapter. Did I get carried away? Bedelia is so fascinating. I might've gotten carried away.  
> Thank you all so, so much for reading and being on this journey with me. Thank you to people who have left kudos, and to those of you who've left comments--we're getting married. I love you. I'm sorry I haven't had a chance to get back to you yet.

Will had thought about this day before. The past few nights, lying under satin sheets he’d had trouble sleeping. Dreams of drowning in blood, of killing Francis Dolarhyde and of Francis Dolarhyde killing him, killing Hannibal, of plunging off the cliff either of them alone, or together. He might have been entirely sleepless, the weight of what they’d done bogging him down in the night, but having Hannibal next to him was grounding. He’d wake up, bone-chilled and a step from rolling off the bed, the pain in his shoulder reminding him of where he was, and Hannibal would be when he sat up, his breath quiet and steady, a metronome ticking in his head.  Lying on his side, watching him sleep. Sometimes Hannibal was on his side, facing him, sometimes on his back, head turned in his direction. He never found Hannibal turned away, though. If he was lying on his back, Will would slide closer and slide a hand across Hannibal's chest, resting on his left collarbone after pausing over his heart. On their third night, his shuffling--or, perhaps, the twitching moans of a nightmare--had woken Hannibal, and when he’d sat up shivering and raking hair out of his face their eyes had met.

“Will?” his voice was crackling with dregs of sleep.

He'd sat up, hair mussed and groggy, and offered to make him some herbal tea. Will shook his head.

“I’m cold,” he’d said, and it wasn’t a lie. He’d seen Hannibal bleed out in this dream, and he’d been covered in blood, not warm but chilling him like ice, listening to Hannibal’s rasping breaths and holding him in his arms, wondering why he himself wasn’t dying, too. _If we die_ , _we die together_. And Hannibal’s crimson eyes looking up at him, the pain showing in his face, shuddering breaths breaking through his bloody lips, looking vulnerable, like a jungle cat stuttering the last of it’s life away.

“Tea will warm you up,” Hannibal said, starting to get out of bed.

“Hannibal,” he took a hand from his face and reached out. “I--can you...”

Hannibal had stopped, looking over his shoulder and him before nodding, if only slightly, and slipping back down into bed, his expression patient. Will laid back down, silent, and Hannibal laid down behind him, an arm slipping around Will slowly, fingers splayed tentative over the scar across Will’s stomach, he pulled Will’s closer, unperturbed by the icy chill of his skin or the tremor of his heart.

The nightmares continued, shifting less to thoughts of their deaths and more to those whom he knew Hannibal intended to call upon. Bedelia, Jack, Alana and Margot, their son, whom he had never met, taking on the form of Walter or, once, a young Abigail--he’d had another about Molly after Hannibal took his ring, through the lens of the Red Dragon. They were all in a room, sitting in identical versions of the seat Will had occupied during therapy in Hannibal’s office, positioned in a semi-circle around Will.

This was nothing like the nightmares. They carried her into the bathroom and laid her on a tarp, and Hannibal gave her a drug and cut her left leg off. They hung it to drain in the shower and wrapped her up gingerly. When she woke she was in her bed, and while the screaming startled Will, he responded fairly calmly. He paused, having been aiding Hannibal in preparing the meat, raising his eyebrows at Hannibal, who returned the expression, looking bemused.

“Would you go in and see to her?” Hannibal asked, “This point in the preparation is vital.”

“Why not,” Will asked, moving to wash his hands. “she already hates me.”

His heart was pounding as he approached the bedroom. This was a test. He steeled himself against what he’d see in the bedroom. The yelling had stopped, and in its place he heard loud, horrified gasps. He pushed the door open.

* * *

Bedelia closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.  In a few hours an alert would go off on her phone, and if she didn't turn it off, a second would ping. After the third, it would send a voicemail to Jack Crawford's inbox.

She needed time.

“You have never killed a person this way before,” Bedelia said, sipping from the glass of water Will had brought her. He was checking on her for the second time after she had to guess had been about an hour. The alarm clock by her bed had been unplugged. When Will handed her the glass, she noticed his ring was gone. She locked eyes with him, seeing her notice, but she stored the information for later. Chopin’s Nocturne Op. 9 No. 2 in E-Flat Major played smoothly in the background from the kitchen, pushing eagerly through the door and more fitfully filling the room when he opened it. The music was louder than before and in the kitchen, where she imagined it originated, it must’ve been difficult to speak over.

Whatever they’d given her to keep the pain in her leg at bay was fogging her head, and left her mouth feeling dry, like it was stuffed with cotton. “You have killed in rage, and in righteousness. This isn’t either.” She drank the water like she didn’t need it, and looked down her nose at him.

“Isn’t it?” his expression changed, the cold impassivity shifting to a familiar sneer. He was leaning in the doorway again. “It feels righteous.”

“Hannibal will be pleased,” her ghost limb crossed itself over the other. There was a shocking lack of mass every time she looked at it, an empty space where empty space rested.  “to have corrupted you so...deeply. Where is Hannibal?”

“What Hannibal and I evolved into is more than corruption.” He ignored her question.

“Like a mosaic,” she amended. “Hannibal created you from the broken pieces of your mind after you cracked.  You are too special to be eaten, for now.”

“Hannibal’s compassion for me extends beyond cultivation. He can see himself in me. You offered Hannibal the ability to engage with someone on even footing, to manipulate someone from the other side. But you were behind the veil, Bedelia.”

“ We can only learn so much and live.” she replied knowingly, and Will laughed, despite himself, and Nocturne Op.39 in B Major No. 2 replaced Chopin’s former piece.

“Hannibal echoed the sentiment.” he looked at her bedside table, avoiding eye contact.

“You offer the opportunity for a rare type of connection for Hannibal Lecter. I was a colleague with the context and the proper association with him to accompany him to Europe, and beyond the veil.”

“Right place, right time, right resume,” He replied flatly. “Nothing makes us more vulnerable than loneliness... except greed,” he met her eyes again, voice shifting to accusatory. “Did you get greedy, Bedelia?”

She raised her eyebrow skeptically, and folded her arms over her legs--leg demurely. She hoped she put upon the look of being completely contrary, though her head swam and she worked to focus. “If I were greedy, I wouldn’t have made it this far. I knew exactly when Hannibal was at his most dangerous, and I evaded being served on his table in the first place...and the second.”

“Third time’s a charm.”

“Yet you warned me,” she reminded him. “Were you feeling inclined to honor your better nature? Or simply eager to see me squirm?”

“You didn’t. Much.”

“Have you given any thought,” she straightened up against the headboard, ignoring the comment. “to what will happen when Freddie Lounds picks up the trail of bodies the two of you leave behind? Unless, of course, you intend to include her in them.”

“I have better things to do than hunt down Freddie Lounds. Besides, Hannibal seems to get a kick out of the Tattler.” He scoffed. “Maybe I’ll learn to get a kick out of it, too.” a muscle in his jaw twitched, maybe-- _but not likely_ , she thought. “Hell, maybe Freddie and Chilton will write a book together. Cling to more of the fame they keep dying for.”

“Do you believe that would that compensate for the part you played in orchestrating his attack? Or are excited by the prospect?” She didn’t know if the wound was still sore, and the only way to find out was to poke at it. “A book detailing the mindsets of Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham, written to the world?”

Will’s eyes averted hers, his head tilted down. The silence was mocking again, but its derision was pointed in the other direction. Piano Trio No. 5 in D Major Op. 70 No. 1 “Ghost”, began in the background.

“Anything written...” his jaw was tense as he spoke. “by the likes of Freddie Lounds and Frederick Chilton would misconstrue us beyond recognition.”

“And yet, Freddie Lounds was the first to call you on your nature and the first to be proven right in respect to it,”

“I wasn’t a killer when Freddie accused me of being a murder.”

“She saw your becoming.”

“She _saw_ what would sell advertisements on her websites. I was clickbait.”

“She’ll have to do more interviews.” Her eyes bore into his skull. He wouldn’t look at her. “I can only imagine; Freddie has already set the stage for the book’s thesis. They know you helped orchestrate his escape.”

“I told Jack Crawford to say that,” he scoffed. “to make the story more believable. What story do you see Freddie painting?”

She inclined her head at him.

“Right now, I imagine she has in her mind a the tale of two killers, meeting and shaping each other. Or perhaps she’ll write you a corrupted FBI profiler. There’s a romance to both presentations. The result, however, will be the same,”

“Which is?”

“A portrait of Hannibal Lecter as the enticing serial killer you couldn’t shake off your back. Those three years with you wife will be reduced to a passing fancy, and she will say you succumbed to true nature and ran away with him, to your death, with the Red Dragon as your catalyst.”

“Not likely,” he scoffed. “That’s too--more likely, she’ll say Hannibal was having an affair with Red Dragon--that I killed him in a jealous rage.”

“Nevertheless, the story told is a romantic one. I imagine...your wife will be approached for interviews. Your colleagues from the FBI certainly will be. While you were at the Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane, I read of a forensic specialist...a woman...Beverly Katz was killed by the Chesapeake Ripper. Shortly after this Hannibal was attacked by a nurse working at the BHCI and nearly killed. Have you forgiven Hannibal for what he did to Beverly?”

“Don’t talk about my wife. Have you forgiven Hannibal for what he did to your patient?” Will spat.

“What Hannibal did to my patient was out of curiosity.” it wasn’t an answer.

“What Hannibal did to Beverly was out of necessity.” He seemed disgusted with himself even as he said it, and he reached back and pulled a flask tucked into his belt, unscrewing the lid and taking a controlled swig.

“Freddie Lounds may be disappointed to discover you are still alive.”

“Yeah? Why is that?”

“When scholars study a thing, they strive to kill it first, if it's alive; then they have the parts and they've lost the whole...for the link that's missing was the living soul.”

He scoffed disdainfully. “Freddie Lounds is hardly a scholar.”

“Is Hannibal Lecter alive?” She asked finally. His eyebrows shot up in surprise, and his eyes finally met hers.

“Excuse me?”

“Whose loss are you grieving?” she’d taken him by surprise. She could see something there was something he was hiding, and she was uncertain of his stability. “Your...affectations are cleverly constructed but not impregnable. Your underlying reality is that you are suffering a great loss, and you’re doing your very best to hide it.”

He left, closing the door and boxing the music out of the bedroom.

* * *

“She thinks you’re dead. Or, I should say, she’s entertaining the possibility.” He mused in the kitchen, lowering the chamber music to a less offensive volume as he entered. He went straight to the sink, securing the fold of his sleeves at the elbow and turning on the water to wash his hands. “She came to this conclusion only _after_ she attempted to turn me against you.” He lathered the soap thickly between his fingers, and glanced over his shoulder when he didn’t receive an immediate answer. Hannibal stood immediately behind him to his left, his face contemplative and silent.

“What brought her to that assumption?” Hannibal said finally, lips quirked with amusement. Will dried his hands on the hand towels, the patterned cotton twill was handsome, but not practical.

“She said I was grieving, and that I was trying to hide it.”

“Are you grieving?”

“Grief is...premature. There’s a line in Faust--” Will paused, trying to remember. “‘Two souls are dwelling in my breast, and one of them is striving to forsake its brother.’”

“Then let him be consumed, that your breast may beat once in unity with itself, and not twice with indecision.” Hannibal replied. “Grieve though you may, you’ve chosen this life with me, Will. Do you regret it?”

“With itself, or with yours? No.” Will turned to face him, leaning back against the counter, meeting Hannibal’s quietly searching eyes.

"Then you must commit to it. You can no longer safely dwell between worlds. You must accept who you are, for your own sake, and for mine.”

“I know,” he sighed. Hannibal put a firm hand on his shoulder, grounding him in the moment. “Your capacity for killing is still evolving, Will. It may take time. However, I need to know that I can trust you.”

“You can trust me,” he said, making his eyes move back to Hannibal’s. His agitation was ebbing away though discontent still perched in him. He thought about mentioning Beverly and Freddie Lounds, and then decided against it. Talking about Beverly would lead to talking about Abigail, and he wasn’t ready to have either of those conversations. Freddie would be an easier topic, and yet. “We should get back to the meal. It’s not gonna cook itself,” he forced a laugh.

Hannibal studied him, eyes searching Will’s meaningfully. His hand squeezed firmly on Will’s shoulder, and slid to his neck, firm and grounding with an undercurrent of tenderness, taking measure of his pulse. It made the hairs on Will’s arms rise, and he fought a shudder. Hannibal wore the expression a wolf wears before treading into thick grass: alert and wary, should a sneak tread underfoot Their eyes boring into each other’s, and Will’s muscles felt tight, but he fought to keep from tensing up. His heart was studdering in his chest, and he imagined he could feel the steady pulse from Hannibal’s fingertips as the moment crept by. Arms that had held him only the night before felt suddenly constraining and Will itched to shift away. A joke crept inappropriately at the back of his throat, crouched under a sob. He wasn’t prepared for this dry intimacy.

“It seems our past betrayals will always color our lives together.” Hannibal relented. “We lick out wounds and try to look forward though in truth we’re both still nursing ourselves back to who we are, and even as we try to learn what we will be together.”

Will’s chest felt heavy; he broke and looked away, staring determinedly at the seem of Hannibal’s sweater. He could see the pain in Hannibal’s eyes the mistrust under a veil of regret, and could feel it brewing in himself.

“I’m here, Hannibal,” He said heavily. He put his hand on Hannibal’s other arm and looked at him again and inhaled deeply, trying to pool strength in his chest and drown the other things swimming there. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“One soul speaks now, but whom will speak later?” Hannibal replied. “the voice I hear now speaks the truth while the other makes it a lie.”

“This is what I am, Hannibal. Take it or leave it,”

Hannibal’s responding expression bore so deeply into him he felt ashamed. The look lasted only a beat, but he felt the weight of it in his chest; “ _I am never the one who leaves_ ,”

“Will you be ready when the time comes?” Hannibal stepped back, moving to open a bottle of wine, letting the moment grow easier between them.

“Yes. Will you be?” Will replied. Hannibal gave him a curious look, hint of a smile ghosting on his face.

“Bedelia and I have shared much over the years,” he admitted, pulling the cork out of the bottle and pouring it carefully into a crystal decanter. Will watched him, pouring at a careful angle so as to leave the sediment in the bottle before leaving the decanter on the table so the wine could aerate. It made him think of thought of the bottle of bourbon he’d left at home; it was a brand called Old Crow, a gift from Molly for their anniversary. It was ten dollars a bottle, tasted like shit, and reminded him of Louisiana. He’d grinned like an idiot when he’d opened the package. He’d only had that one chance to drink it. “It would be rude not to dedicate the proper thought to eating her, and yet, the longer we linger the more at risk we are.” he replied simply.“She thinks we’re going to kill her.” Will confessed.

“I wonder what gave her the notion,” Hannibal looked bemused, and despite himself, a small laugh burst from Will.

“I didn’t say a thing.” he replied, and then glanced at the stack of oysters, unshucked on their ice bed. He picked up the plate and turned the sink on. He stacked a new tray with ice, lightly salting it and placing it down near the sink. He picked up an oyster, running it under cold water and scrubbing the shell clean. He ran it under the cool water again when he was satisfied, then held it in a towel and used a knife to wedge the shell apart.  “I can’t imagine these will improve her perspective.”

“Dinner will be ready soon. ” Hannibal said coolly. “We should prepare the guest of honor.” 24 Preludes, Op. 28 No. 2 in A minor began softly in the background.

* * *

Jack Crawford stood at in the doorway his Baltimore home and said goodbye. He had a suitcase in the trunk of his car, and a plane ticket folded in his wallet.

There had been no word after the disappearance of Will Graham or the escapee Hannibal Lecter, and the killer Francis Dolarhyde had yet to be found. The APB for the police car that had disappeared from the shooting had been put out too late, and the GPS had been immediately disabled, the camera likely lying on the side of the road somewhere between here and anywhere, although the other cars showed Hannibal and Will driving off together. The FBI was following a cold trail, and Jack knew the chances of finding anything definitive while it was still relevant were practically non-existent. They would find something, he didn’t doubt, but any survivors would be long gone by the time they found it.

Survivors. If Will had been the only survivor, he wouldn’t bullshit about it. Will was dead, or Hannibal was alive. The Dragon, at least was dead. Dolarhyde was well-built; Will had been trained as a police officer and FBI agent, but the experience was years under his belt and he’d gotten thinner, let practiced, after settling down with Molly.

Either Will was dead, or Dolarhyde was. There were two only three outcomes he could entertain: Will was dead, Hannibal was alive; Will and Hannibal were alive, or Will and Hannibal were both dead. In all scenarios, Dolarhyde was dead.

It was because of the first two possibilities that Jack had bought the plane ticket to Palermo, Italy. If Will and Hannibal were dead, then he would find nothing but, perhaps, closure in Italy, and he could go back to the FBI and face the music. It was in that place where he would find them, he knew, if they were still alive. This time there would be no Vergers to stop him, no Will to find the scent. He didn’t know what sort of state Will would be in, if he was alive, but if he’d joined league with Hannibal, Jack would have little choice but to kill him.

The thought made his chest tight, and he found sighs slipping out of him whenever his mind drifted to the subject. Will had been his friend, his protégé, and Jack had taken advantage of him more than once in the search for justice. It was the second time he’d have Will’s blood on his hands, only this time it was more than a phantasm constructed by Hannibal. There was a hope, however slim that Will was a captive of a sort, and that when Jack found him, he’d turn on Hannibal. He held the hope in a clenched fist.

He’d made a call to Bedelia du Maurier before he bought the ticket. Alana, he knew, was gone. She’d evacuated the city with her wife and child and he didn’t expect he’d hear from her again, or, he hoped he didn’t. Any further news from Alana could only be bad. Bedelia, it seemed, had also fled, or had otherwise been removed from the situation; whether she’d been quietly killed in the process of slipping was unclear. Jack hadn’t heard until after the fact that Will had been seeing her, and had only heard such from the headlines of the Tattler, but it didn’t sit well with him.

Jack locked the deadbolt of the home he’d lived in for the past fifteen years. He didn’t stop as he walked to his car to memorize the driveway, or the way the house looked in the late hours of the night. He’d done this all before, the first time he’d gone to Europe in search for Hannibal, and had no need to relive the moment. He climbed into his car and drove to the airport in comfortable silence, and walked in silence to the terminal for international flights.

**He was in line to check his bag when his phone rang.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I lied. I promised myself I'd get all of Bedelia into one chapter. And then I promised again I'd get it all into two. Her story is simply too important [and long] to work into one--or two--chapters.  
> I had so much fun writing in the music? I tried to restrain myself but it really set the vibes for me. Sorry about that. You can listen to or ignore those while you're reading.  
> It's really important to me going forward that we address the different sorts of tension between these two men. I'm still working on getting into the different skins, but hopefully that's not evident in the writing.
> 
> Quotes from this chapter:
> 
> "Nothing makes us more vulnerable than loneliness... except greed." Silence of the Lambs  
> "We can only learn so much and live." Hannibal  
> "Two souls, alas, are dwelling in my breast,  
> And one is striving to forsake its brother." Faust  
> "When scholars study a thing, they strive to kill it first, if it's alive; then they have the parts and the'be lost the whole, for the link that's missing was the living soul." Faust


	5. ālea iacta est

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dinner ends less peacefully than planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry this took so long! I was swamped with midterms and then I got really sick during fall break and I still had a ton of homework...I got this together as soon as I could!  
> 

_The sound of haphazard footsteps from below deck woke Hannibal from his reverie. They were a rushed, clumsy scattering and he stiffened, waiting for the approach. It didn’t come--he heard, instead, a second set of hurried footsteps and shushing. His muscles relaxed. He would need to pull port soon to deal with the unexpected visitor--if the appropriate meal was to be prepared, he would require the proper ingredients, and the preparation would take time._

_He glanced at the deck and sighed. They couldn’t sustain all three of them aboard, but delivering this news wouldn’t go over well._

* * *

Jack sighed, and stood in line listening to his phone ring. It was the factory ring setting, plain and jarring, and a few people in front of him compulsorily reached to their pockets before realizing it wasn't his. He put his hand over it and paused. _What’s the point?_ There was a trash bin a few feet away; he contemplated tossing the phone away. He was going in search of Hannibal Lecter’s ghost, it wouldn’t be smart to linger on life. But his hand slid into his pocket and he held his phone in his hand, weighing it. He didn’t want to take any phone calls from the FBI, he didn’t want to risk any distractions. His gaze was set heavy on the trashcan. _It could be Will_.

He answered the phone.

“Hel--”

“Jack Crawford, this is Bedelia Du Maurier.” the voice interrupted him immediately. “He’s here.”

The line went dead, and his phone buzzed. He had a text from the same number: GPS coordinates. Jack stared at them for a long moment, and  then grabbed his suitcase and bustled out of the airport.

* * *

Bedelia du Maurier’s head felt heavy. The latest dose of pain medications made her drowsy but dulled the pain in her leg to a persistent throb. She took deep, heavy breaths and forced herself to keep her neck straight despite the urge to lull her head back. A plate of shucked oysters sat a foot in front of her on the table, arranged delicately around a split orange on a cymbidium orchid, ice dappled around the oysters to keep them fresh. The meat on the center of the table was steaming hot, and garnished with two pink roses and deep red flower petals on it’s sides.

 _That’s my leg_. Her stomach rolled; the smell was intoxicating.

Will had come to prepare her for dinner half an hour before, the dress a selection from her time in Italy one she’d often looked at, glittering inviting in her closet, and never deigned to wear. He had helped her dress and brought her to the table, the food already set delicately in place when he seated her at the end of the table. The glass of wine was empty, but the water glasses were full and misted. He’d helped her into the chair, the antique flame mahogany chair creaking gently, then left the room, only to return immediately with crystal plates and glassware to set carefully in front of her, settling lastly silver plate to the left of the crystal. He looked at her through the fog in her mind, his eyes clear and his expression neutral as he set the last plate down, a lovely silver piece with a B inscribed at the top right edge.

“Sorry to be rude,” he said, gentle sarcasm in his voice. “Hannibal will be joining us shortly.” her eyes went immediately to the table’s centerpiece when he left, her brain trying to come to terms with the reality of her situation when her eyes fell on the silver plate Will had gingerly set down before leaving. On it lay her only piece of silverware: a slim, two-pronged oyster fork.

She looked to the room Will had disappeared into for a long moment, weighing her options, listening for him. She took the oyster fork in her right hand and laid it discreetly in her lap, glancing over her shoulder at the second entrance as she did so.

Will and Hannibal entered together, Hannibal standing close by Will and pulling out his chair at the long edge of the table before picking up the  large carving knife and fork and serving Will as he introduced the meal, glitter in his eye. Debussy’s Arabesque II breathed in through the gramophone on the table in the left corner of the room. Their glasses were already served with white wine, with the exception of Bedelia’s, who had a sparkling cider in it’s place, to avoid interference with the anesthetic.

“It’s good to see you,” he said demurely, seating himself across the table from her once he’d served himself. “It has been too long, Bedelia.”

“Hello, Hannibal,”  Bedelia replied, plucking oysters from their tray and placing them neatly onto her plate. “You look well.” She picked up her wineglass and gracefully inhaled. Will told her cuttingly it was non-alcoholic, and she raised an unimpressed eyebrow but drank it anyways.

Hannibal watched as Will picked up his first forkful of the cooked leg, the meat on his own fork steaming in front of his lips. It wasn’t the first time Hannibal had fed Will human meat, and it wasn’t the first time Will had eaten it knowingly, but it was the first time they’d eaten a shared kill together, and both known it. Will had brought a cut of meat from Randall Tier to Hannibal once years ago, under the assumption that it was Freddie Lounds. This was different. Will ate the meat without hesitation, eyes closing as he chewed to taste the full flavor. Bedelia watched, and regarded Hannibal’s attentions to Will with distaste. When Will swallowed, he simpered at Hannibal, and she felt a her disgust at the back of her throat eyeing the two, looking like they might take hands across the table if their hands would reach.

“Is married life suiting you well?” her question broke their focus like an interruption. “last time, I recall, you struggled with stability.” she directed her question vaguely, looking at the oyster pinched between her thumb and forefinger, waiting to see which of the two deigned to answer.

“I’d hardly call us married.” Will scoffed, sipping his wine.

“Marriage is not required for intimacy,” Hannibal agreed, smoothing the words over as he ate, pausing long between bites to savor the taste. “It takes many forms, some based upon marriage, and some around the other. Some are entirely separate. For Romans, a marriage was celebrated when the two parties dined together, and would not be accepted until such had taken place.”

“Will tells me I am the first of your estimated stops,” Bedelia said, sucking down her second oyster quietly. “I suppose I should take this as a compliment. Will said warned me to pack my bags. I supposed I didn’t pack quickly enough.” she was fishing for a weakness, hoping Will hadn’t mentioned their therapy sessions. Hannibal looked nonplussed.

“Dear Will, thoughtful as always,” he replied coolly. “Did you grow fond of each other, I wonder, while I was away?”

“We offered each other in sight,” Bedelia admitted.

“Fondness wasn’t a part of the package,” Will confirmed dryly. “I went to Bedelia because I needed to talk to someone else that saw you as more than a serial killer, Hannibal. Someone who had seen you.”

“Did it feel good to reach out to someone you thought might understand our plight?” He asked Will. “Did it feel good to be reached out to?” he turned to Bedelia without letting him answer.

“No.” Bedelia and Will said simultaneously, their voices equally stiff. Hannibal smiled into his wine glass.

The remainder of the dinner carried through biting comments and passive-aggressive inquiries. Bedelia ate slowly and tried not to draw attention to the fact that she was hiding her oyster fork. Will alternated between stiff politeness, cold frustration, and a sardonic friendliness when speaking to Bedelia. Hannibal received the same, with the rare spice of genuine affection. For her part, Bedelia was entirely herself; demure, probing, and occasionally, subtly rude.

“How long do you two expect for this to last?” Bedelia asked finally, as the two stood to pick up to clear the table. The leg was the first to be cleared, Hannibal and Will carefully. Will stood by the entrance to the kitchen, still and silence as Hannibal cleared the plates in front of her. The oyster fork sat in her lap, and she ran her fingers over the point of it with her left hand. She looked at Hannibal; calm, unsuspecting. “How long before your conscience draws you back in horror?” She asked Will. Her tone was calm and probing, and she watched Will’s shoulders tense up. She looked at Hannibal, clearing the place in front of her. “Just how sustainable do you think this is, Hannibal? He is too malleable, what he promises today can’t be assured for tomorrow.” Her index finger twitched over the oyster fork, and she tried to stay calm. The moment came, and their eyes met. She leaned in and whispered something into his ear, unsure if Will could see, and the moment passed. He straightened up and followed Will to the kitchen.

The men said nothing: Hannibal went into the kitchen and Will trailed behind him. Hannibal set the silverware down in the sink and turned on the tap, rolling up his sleeves to wash his hands. Will stood behind him silently, the remaining dishes in his hand. He looked down at them and tried to find words, and then sighed turned to put the dishes on the island counter, leaning back against it.

“Hannibal,” he said with a sigh, running a hand across his face. Hannibal turned the sink off and turned to face him as he dried his hands, his face a mask of calm.

“Could you prepare the desert, Will? I need to attend to something.” He left the room without a word.

“Hannibal--”

Hannibal left, and Will sighed, moving to the fridge to pull out the chocolate mousse and scooped it delicately into three goblets. He replaced the first bowl for a second, with the whipped cream and scooped it neatly into the goblets before sprinkling chocolate shavings on top. The dessert was simple, easy to make, and sweet. He placed them on a serving tray as Hannibal reentered.

“Ah, it looks perfect. Do you think you could double check our arrangements in the bedroom before we serve it? We must be sure everything is in order.”

Will sighed at the stiffness in his voice.

“Sure.” His agitation bled into the words. Hannibal surveyed him as he spoke, his face unchanging.

“Thank you, Will.”

~~~~~~~~

Bedelia sat, foggy and patient, as Will hurried past her and straight out of the room. She had a fighting chance now, she knew. She heard the bedroom door close and she sighed. Time slid past her effortlessly as she waited. She was studying her table, looking at the roses left from dinner when she heard a door open behind her. In the fog of her mind, it was difficult to count them, but she could hear when he entered the room. She clutched the fork in her hand and readied herself. She heard the footsteps stop behind her, and she pushed herself back from the table, unsteady on one leg, twisted her torso and stabbed Will Graham in the neck.

Only...it Wasn’t Will Graham.

Blood surged from the wound in Jack’s neck as she pulled the fork out in horror as the two of them back onto the floor, the spray of blood covering Bedelia’s face, splattering into in her left eye, in her nose, on her tongue as she rolled away, and she might’ve felt sick if she had the time to stir nausea in her belly. A horrified cry slipped from his lips as Jack bled out on the floor, the oyster fork still in her hands. She let out a horrified groan.

“Well, this is a surprise.” Hannibal’s voice sent a jolt through her body, and she rolled on her back to look at him, standing at the main entrance to the dining room, a tray with three goblets in hand. Her jaw trembled, her left hand soaked in blood splatter. His eyebrows were raised in surprise, but there was a faint curve to his lips. “I must say, I do not think Will will react kindly to this.”

Choking sounds were bursting from Jack’s mouth and Bedelia’s gaze turned back to him and she stared at in open shock. The bedroom door opened as Hannibal placed the plate on the table causally and approached Jack, maintaining space as to avoid the blood spray.

“J-Jack?” Will’s voice broke as he entered the room and saw Jack on his knees, dying with the silver oyster fork in his neck. He sunk to his knees by Jack, his knees soaked in the blood, hands becoming slippery with it as he held the dying man in his arms. “Jack, I--” he held his friend desperately, looking down at him as he stuttered out his last few breaths. “I-I’m so--” Jack Crawford died with a final groan, the light of betrayal glinting in his eyes.

“Will--” Hannibal began, stepping forward.

“Bedelia,” Will’s voice cut like ice. He pulled a gun out of Jack’s left holster. He tried to stand up but his foot slipped in the blood and he fell back to his knees. Bedelia lay stiff, her eyes bulging like orbs in horror.  

“Will.” Hannibal pushed, voice firm. He stepped forward, face honest with concern.

Will wasn’t listening, he fumbled to his feet and raised the gun at Bedelia. “Remember what we discussed, Will!” he said, raising his voice firmly.

The POP! of the gunshot sent a jolt through the room. Bedelia jerked back with a cry of pain. The bullet hit her in the chest, four inches below her right clavicle and she clutched at it, crying out in new pain. He stepped forward, grabbing the edge of the table to steady himself, his foot sliding in Jack’s blood, pointing the gun at her head.

“Jack wasn’t supposed to die!” Will yelled. Hannibal strode hurriedly across the room, pulling the gun from his trembling hand and bringing Will into his arms. “We had an agreement! It wasn’t supposed to be like this!” he exclaimed, tears brimming in his eyes.

“Will, _Will_ , shhh,” Hannibal said, pressing Will’s head into his shoulder. “If you kill her now, you deny yourself the full breadth of this reckoning,” he whispered into Will’s ear, looking coolly at Bedelia through the embrace. “She may yet expire here.” He loosened his grip around Will, hands on his shoulders, and reviewing his expression. “Jack knew we were here. He will likely have called the police. We must change our clothes and go,” He said warningly.

“He would have waited until he pulled in the driveway.” Will responded, nodding and visibly trying to collect himself. “so he’d have a chance to kill you himself.”

“And to save you, if you were alive and not past saving,” Hannibal agreed, petting the back of his head. “Still, it will not be long; go, change your clothes.” Will pulled from the embrace and turned to Bedelia, eyes set hard and gentle puffs of interrupted satisfaction intermingled in his blood as he committed this last image to memory.

“Goodbye, Bedelia,” he sighed. “My only regret is that I didn’t get eat your lying slug of a tongue.” Hannibal led him to the bathroom, a change of clothes waiting on the counter.

“Do not dally. We must hurry,” he paused, his lips pressed to Will’s forehead, before letting him go and returned to the dining room where Bedelia had crawled to lean against the leg of the table, eyes dilated and breath shaky.

“My apologies for Will,” Hannibal said though he looked vaguely pleased. “He is decidedly less fond of you than I am. That was very rude, what you just did."

“Less...implies...he has any fondness at all,” She replied heavily, clutching her chest. She couldn’t be in much pain, Hannibal knew; the drugs used to dull the pain and, ironically, to make her more docile. But he could hear the faint sucking sound coming from her chest with each breath; without treatment, her lung was going to collapse.

“The light of your words shown a dark corner of Will’s heart, and he resents you for it. You point this to him in the same breath you strive to take him from me--when we spoke of fleeing, he was determined we come to see you first.” Hannibal turned towards the kitchen as he said this, leaving her in the dining room alone. She raised her voice:

“He wants to be the last.”

“Yes.” She could hear drawers opening and closing, and then an odd sound, like pulled plastic. He returned with duck tape, scissors, a wet dishtowel, and fancy napkin approached her.

“Will he be the last?” They heard the bathroom door swing open in the hallway.

“He cannot be the last. My apologies--”  He cut the right shoulder of Bedelia’s dress and peeled both ends away from the wound before patting around the bloody bullet wound. Bedelia was only slightly stiff in his touch, and he felt a quirk of admiration. “Please hold this here,” he said, and she took the dish towel and pressed it against the wound to staunch the bleeding. He ripped a chunk of the napkin off and put the bigger piece aside before unspooling the duck take loudly, ripping off a piece about eight inches long. “ To call him such implies there were others equal to him. I have found my second face.”

“You are...going to be caught,” she didn’t say it like a threat, but a warning, the way she’d said it in Florence, all those years before. “He’s not your equal, Hannibal. He’s your death.” her voice was stiff through her pain, but determined, despite it all, to direct him away from Will Graham. Hannibal gave her a gentle, reassuring smile, and a gossamer of genuine affection glittered in his eyes.

“A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time.” Hannibal folded the corners of the right end of ripped duck tape down, so it pointed out like an arrow, then placed the ripped piece of napkin along the adhesive side of the tape, so that it started about an inch from the left edge, with two centimeters on top and bottom, and extending to the end the folded arrow on the left side. “One moment,” he said, placing the tape down. He took the dish towel off the wound and produced a clean, drier one, which he pressed against the wound for one long moment before removing it suddenly and replacing the duct tape over the wound. “This should prevent hypoxia,” he said evenly, standing up and frowning at the ruined dress.

“Should I say thank you?” her voice wasn’t curt, or sarcastic, but it wasn’t kind, either.

“Not just yet,” Will said, entering the room. He was dressed in black slacks and a grey button-down, blood hastily scrubbed away. “You ruined the dress. What’s that duck tape for, Hannibal?” the statement was mockingly offended; the question was not.

“ _You_ ruined the dress, Will; I bandaged the wound. I’m going to change.” He grazed his hand over Will's shoulder as he left.

Will sighed, unbuttoned and shucked his dress shirt off and offered it to her, looking away, a scowl still on his face. She snubbed it, giving him a cold look he didn’t see. He sighed, and made a movement to drape it over her shoulders.

“One bride to another,” He said curtly. She accepted it, saying nothing, but pulling it over herself. She was silent, contempt set between her teeth. “He’s not going to want us to come back after this.” There was no relief in his tone, only bitterness.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she said, hushed through the fog of pain. Her voice had softened in kind. The moment built on the coldness of their voices, two souls touched by the devil: Beelzebub and Leviathan vying for Lucifer’s favor, looking at each other across hell and briefly losing their jealousy, remembering what it was like to fall. “Hannibal will do what Hannibal will do. He carries hell with him as only he devil can.”

Will sighed again, hand dragging down his face, and he gave a small nod in agreement.

“Hannibal’s life isn’t just about Hannibal anymore. He wants me by his side,” he said, his voice low and cold. “If see you again, it’ll be the last payment,” he stared into her eyes.

“If you live,” she replied, less kindly. “we are both in his jaws.”

“No, Bedelia,” Will said he kneeled down by her, and she straightened up, still clutching the leg of the table for balance. He hated her, and yet, he understood her. His heart couldn’t reach out to her, he couldn’t muster any sympathy, but his mind could see her, and he knew: They weren’t the same species, but they were of the same brood. “I’m--in his chest, and we’re beating together.”

Hannibal rounded the corner, and immediately he realized his mistake.

“Will--!”

Bedelia grabbed the shoulder of Will’s shirt with her left hand and yanked him forwards, the releasing her hold on the table leg to bring the oyster fork up, stabbing it down for his throat. She missed, the fork jabbed at the base of his neck, left of his spine. He let out a pained cry of surprise, and her arm tensed and she pulled the fork out of his back and he gasped in pain, then lurched for her throat, pushing her onto her back. She raised the fork up again when the loud POP of a gunshot broke through their struggle. She felt like a bomb was being set off in her chest, and she felt more warmth spreading down body, soaking her dress and the duck taped wound just below it, and it was only when she pressed her hand to her chest and found a new hole, new blood soaking Will’s dress shirt that she understood she’d been shot again. The fork dropped from her hand and landed with a loud clang to the floor, and Hannibal pocketed the gun and pulled Will off of her, turning him so that they were facing each other.

“Will, Will!” He demanded, his voice a concerned hush. “We have to leave.” his hair, previously neat and combed, was falling out of place and in his concern he was showing his age, the wrinkles in his face pronounced, anger dancing behind the expression.

“I--Hannibal--” he was trying to stay firm, but he was replaying the sensation of being stabbed over and over in his head, the shock of going from calm understanding to blood and death. He still felt as though her neck was beneath his fingers and they twitched, strangling air.

“Will? Will?” Hannibal was saying, trying to break through the fog in Will’s eyes. He was gently patting the side of Will’s face, seeing no response. He sighed, and turned to Bedelia. “That was very rude,” he said, and the rage almost broke through the measure of his voice. Bedelia’s eyes were wide with a real, bleeding fear as he approached, leaning down over her.

“Hannibal, I--” RIIIIIP!

Hannibal straightened, duck tape in hand. Bedelia let out a cry of surprise, looking down at her chest slowly and realizing what he’d done. The buttons of the dress shirt were ripped open, though Will had only fastened a few when he’d given it to her, and the first wound was open, air escaping from her lung and threatening its collapse. “Hannibal--”

“Don’t speak, Bedelia,” he said curtly. “ālea iacta est.” the Latin was thick in his mouth, but her protests stuttered to a stop. He turned from her and grabbed Will, pulling an arm around his shoulder and leading him out of the house.

He yanked the passenger seat door of the stolen SUV open and helped Will into the seat. Will, to his part, was regaining himself and climbing into the seat. Hannibal rushed around, climbed into the passenger seat, and peeled out of the driveway. They sat in silence for a long moment, Will’s quiet shudders of pain the only sound in the car.

“Glove compartment,” Hannibal reminded him. Trembling, Will slowly turned to look at Hannibal, then to the glove compartment before jerking it open. He saw the black pack of medicine from before and unzipped it, hands shaking so violently he couldn’t read the labels. “Deep breaths, Will. Can you administer the anesthetic yourself? Do you remember how? It’s--no, Will, there’s a syringe already loaded. Yes, that one.” Will tried to uncap it, taking deep, long breaths. He counted to three in his head, then twisted the cap of the syringe off and plunged it into his shoulder. He took another deep breath, and leaned on the car door and listened to the sound of the car’s wheels on the road.

Hannibal turned the radio on, adjusting it to a classical station so that Chopin played delicately through the speakers. Will closed his eyes and felt the cold glass the heat in his skin and started to relax. The pain meds were making him drowsy already.

“Wha--what did you do?” he asked, breath misting the window. “is she dead?”

“She will be likely dead as alive,” Hannibal replied. “I removed the seal I placed on her lungs before we left. The police were likely not far behind our departure. If an ambulance accompanies them, she may live. She may bleed to death, her lung may collapse, there are a myriad of complication that may undertake her before help can arrive. I did not kill her, but I did not leave her to live.”

“Schrodinger's cat,” Will muttered, he slowly turned his head towards Hannibal, neck throbbing.

“She should not have attacked you,” he glanced at Will, the neck seeping unhindered from the stab on the back of his neck. She had twisted the fork in his skin, and it would heal poorly. “When you can, you should put some pressure against it, staunch the bleeding.”

“What’d you say to her when we left?”

“ālea iacta est.” Hannibal replied. “The die has been cast.” Will slowly began to pull his undershirt off.

“Oh. Crossing the rubicon.”

Will balled up his shirt and pressed it to the back of his neck to soak up the blood. He leaned onto Hannibal’s shoulder across the armrest and said nothing. Hannibal leaned his head against Will’s and inhaled deeply, the smells of blood and sweat swimming through his nose, then straightened up to drive. He said nothing of Will’s affection, but there was a tickling warmth settling in his heart. Will stayed like that for as long as he was comfortable--which was only about ten minutes--then reclined the seat back, lying with the balled up shirt under the wound, head swimming through the fog of medicine, and let his eyelids droop, his gaze on Hannibal, and the road beyond him as he drifted asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was a doozy.  
> When Hannibal mentions "I have found my second face." he's referencing the common greek myth about Zeus splitting humans apart.  
> For those of you less familiar with demon, Beelzebub is Satan's right hand man in Paradise Lost. In the classification of demons, Beelzebub and Leviathan are both in the first hierarchy of demons, and were the only two demons to fall first with Satan. Beelzebub is a tempter of pride and Leviathan is a tempter of heresy. I thought these would be fitting figures for our Brides.  
> Please drop a comment if you liked the chapter!!!  
> The line "A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time." is a quote form Mark Twain...I think that's the only one other than the Julius Caesar quote...


	6. ad astra per aspera

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, everyone. After some careful consideration, I've decided this is probably going to be our penultimate chapter--that is, there is only going to be one more. This story has gone on much longer than I intended, and while I love the work I've done with it, and I know previously I said I wanted to do nine chapters, I've decided I think I want to focus on other things.  
> Thank you everyone who's been reading since the beginning, thank you everyone who jumped along, thank you, thank you, thank you. Everyone.  
> I hope you enjoy the chapter.

“It’s unlikely he can sustain a healthy lifestyle aboard the boat with us for the entire journey,” Hannibal said pleadingly. Will gave him an imploring look from the table. “While thoughts of your past may be reassuring, we must think of our safety, and his.”

“I don’t want a dog because they remind me of the past, Hannibal,” Will protested, lovingly scratching between the dog’s ears. “I want a dog because I love dogs. I want this dog because he’s my dog. Simple math, Hannibal.”

Hannibal surveyed the two of them with a modicum of distaste. Going out to sea was a risk as is, Will’s experience aside, doing so with a dog was even more so. Will insisted, however, that they stop for _this_ dog. It was the first thing he’d said in hours, alternating between staring out the window and resting his head on the dash.

“I just lost Jack, Hannibal,” Will reminded him. “I need something, Hannibal--something to hold onto. It’s just one dog. Besides--having a dog lowers a person’s chance of depression, provide a source of stability and routine...”

Hannibal protested gently, applying logic and reason, and Will insisted and insisted and finally, he had shifted his body towards Hannibal in the passenger seat, reaching out and putting his hand on Hannibal’s shoulder and looked imploringly into his eyes, gentle light glimmering in them like stars. “ _please_ , Hannibal.” his voice a breathy plead as Hannibal turned to regard him. Hannibal took a hand off the steering wheel to hold Will’s, his thumb tracing the veins on the back of Will’s hand.

“Of course, Will,” he acquiesced, his voice soft. “I cannot testify to the sustainability of this plan, and you must take responsibility for that. If the time comes--”

“If the time comes, we’ll figure something out,” Will replied. “Thank you, Hannibal.”

All in all, it wasn’t...terrible.Will had taken the dog out boating before, and grabbing Cerenia--for motion sickness--hadn’t been an issue. Hannibal had been able to take what he had needed to from Will’s home, and had delighted at being there. Molly and Walter had vacated--when they arrived at the house, it was deserted, things half packed in boxes and no car in the driveway at 10 o’clock at night. But the dogs were there. Will guessed they were staying at a hotel nearby. Walter’s grandparents--his father’s parents--were probably helping them pack up to move out. They had too many dogs to take to a hotel, and so the pack was there, eager and excited to see Will Graham return home for the last time.

“Hey guys!” Will said, a full smile pulling across his face as the dogs crowded around him. “hey! I missed you too! Hey--no--no jumping Daisy!” he said as a medium sized, orange and white mutt tried to hop up on him. He had entered first, promising to keep the dogs from getting overexcited. Hannibal waited behind the screen door until Will switched the lights on and beckoned him in, grinning from ear to ear. The dogs moved to sniff him with excitement, and Will spoke parentally to them, guarding their behavior. Hannibal, for his part, smiled lightly at them and gave one of them a firm pat on the head. “I just need to get the harness. The rest is out with the boat.” Will said, and he wandered further into the house to a closet. The wound on Will’s back was fully illuminated now under the fluorescent light, the dried blood a crimson trail down his fair skin. Hannibal strode in slowly, taking in the life Will had made for himself for the past three years. He fiddled with photos, peaked in drawers, inhaled the past he hadn’t been a part of. For Will the experience would be a cathartic one, for Hannibal, it was the ache of jealousy sauteéd with the bitter reminder of abandonment, served with a side of quiet triumph, knowing Will was leaving this life behind. The house had a faint smell of detergent, mud, and lemon hiding under the scent of the family. Will’s scent, and a woman’s, and...a young boy’s.

He looked through the kitchen, nosed in the child’s room, past Will rummaging in a closet and to the master bedroom. He left the stair light on as he went up. He looked in the closet they had shared, Molly’s clothes presumably accounting for most of the empty space in the closet; it was mostly bare but for men’s coats and dress shirts, the occasional sweater and such. He looked in the drawers and pulled out some of Will’s clothes, sifting through for a mixture of finer outfits and practical ones. He ran his hand over the quilt on the bed, peaked in at Molly’s clothes packed in one of the top stacked boxes, and used the image, combined with that of the child’s room, to picture the life that Will had once lived here. There was a loose-fit knitted green sweater that caught his attention more than anything else, and he folded it with care on the bed with the other clothes. He poked through the master bath, and saw the aftershave that had so plagued his nose. He placed it the bed next to the clothes. He snooped shamelessly in the bedside drawers and found a lockbox key under the mattress. He put it in his pocket.

“Hannibal?” He heard Will call. “Hannibal where’d you _go_?”

Hannibal stood, taking the clothes from their folded stack on the bed and placing them delicately into a leather satchel from the closet, smiling slightly to himself as he tucked the cheap aftershave into the bottom of the satchel and went down the stairs. Will, who was standing in the living room, turned at the sound of footsteps and frowned.

“Honestly, Hannibal?” Will sighed. “It’s not enough to have me, do you have to act like a busybody in my house, too?”

Hannibal reached the bottom of the stairs and paused in front of him and the leashed dog. Will had a half empty duffel bag and a few ratty looking towels under his arm, a new shirt on his back.

“Do I?” Hannibal replied, raising his eyebrows.

“What”

“Do I _have_ you, Will?” Hannibal amended. He carded his fingers through Will’s curls tenderly, and then went to lead the way out. Will scoffed at his back and then gave an honest laugh. Hannibal held the door open for him and caught the smile, clicking his tongue at the unleashed dogs so that they wouldn’t run outside. Will switched the last light off as he left, the-the waxing moon highlighting the mirth on his face, and Hannibal’s chest felt warm as he followed Will to the Boatshed. Will rummaged about the shed, tossing things into the duffle bag diligently.

“This boat looks in good condition, considering its status,” Hannibal commented, holding the dog leash as Will zipped the bag up.

“It’s gutted. All the parts I could take, I took. Never unloaded it, though.”                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     

The second was docked, stocked, and slightly larger and better suited for travel. They packed their stuff in the car, loading the dog into the back seat last. Will put his hand Hannibal’s wrist as they drove, and Hannibal let him pull his hand off the wheel so he could hold it, the dog panting happily in the back seat on one of the ratty towels. Will spoke sweetly to him frequently, but Hannibal’s driving was smooth and didn’t upset him.

There was a heavy chill in the air at the docks, the sun still asleep, and they were alone on the seaside. Still, they didn’t dally. They loaded up in a rush carrying flashlights, Will taking the leash and bringing the dog and duffle bag aboard first. They were out at sea as quickly as possible, holding onto the cloak of night as their cover and leaving the smell of fish aside for a purer smell of the sea. Will, despite his intermittent naps in the car, was still exhausted. He took the dog down to the lower deck, stripping off the pants he’d changed into after dinner and the shirt he’d found at his old home, both ruined with blood from the wound on his back. He tugged on a new pair of boxers and went out to the deck with a blanket, bloody clothes in the plastic bag he lazily deposited on the deck before going to Hannibal to have his new wound seen to.

The soft wind and the evening chill in the air made him shiver, but the sun would be rising soon and they’d left early, so there would be little wind chop to deal with for now. Will held the blanket against his chest as he sat down in front of Hannibal on the old vinyl seat on the deck of the boat, arms tucked into the blanket as he shivered, his back bared to the cold. Hannibal sat close behind him, allowing Will to leech the heat from Hannibal’s to keep warm. Hannibal bathed the wound as he had the others before, spraying at it with distilled water and then dabbing it carefully with a wet rag. He massaged Will’s other shoulder ardently with his free hand and Will sighed, the knots in his shoulder loosening. Will lolled his head back, the quietest moan slipping from his lips. Hannibal dried the wound, pouring Betadine over it before bandaging it with gauze and medical tape.

“Almost done,” Hannibal said, using the wet rag to clean the trail of dried blood and Betadine leading from Will’s wound.

“How is it?’ Will asked, his voice quiet and groggy.

“The wound may have damaged your muscles here,” Hannibal admitted. “we’ll have to keep an eye on it, and it will scar.”

Will gave a little scoff, and Hannibal stood and pulled the blanket from his grip to arrange it around him more fully, then offered a hand to pull him to stand.

“Bedelia once told me you were _excited_ by the marks you left on me,” Will said, taking his hand and standing with a hunch. The scar across Will’s stomach peaked through the blanket and Hannibal looked at it openly. “I feel like a teenager’s t-shirt after their first music festival. Everyone’s gotta sign.”

“I warned Jack once that to continue would lead to such thought.

He plodded to the cabin door and down the steps, one of their bags in each hand.

Hannibal sighed. He was exhausted, and he would’ve liked to sleep, but the close of the cabin door felt final. Hannibal sat in the alcove at the top of the stairs to the cabin and sketched until the sun started to rise, dim boat bulbs above the niche, serving as ample light, but when the sun started to peak he uncrossed his legs and moved to the stern of the boat.

The ocean lapped loudly against the bow as the sun rose in the sky, pulling orange hues against the blue.  Hannibal stood at the stern of the boat, silently looking at the horizon. The coast had long since disappeared. He smelt of sweat and blood, and faintly, cologne. His clothes were clean, but there was a bag full with bloody discarded things lying on the deck. The salt air rushed through his matted hair like fingers, and wet his skin with sea water. It was less humid this far at out at sea, but he was leaning against the rails and letting it wash over him. He needed to take a shower, and soon; the blood caked on his skin was beginning to irritate it.

* * *

“Good morning,” Hannibal said, turning to regard Will in surprise as he and the dog emerged from the cabin. “You’re up early.”

“Had to take him to the astroturf,” Will replied, nodding at the dog, panting and unleashed and striding happily past them. Will still had the blanket tucked snugly over his shoulders, and his hair was ruffled from sleep. “You didn’t come to bed.”

“I didn’t want to disturb you.” he said, honestly, but Will caught sight of the black sketchbook under his arm. “I also thought to explore the exterior of the boat, and allow my imagination to fill the time while I waited for you to wake.”

Will stumbled purposefully into Hannibal, colliding with him and taking him aback. Dark, damp curls buried in his shoulder, their arms limp by their sides as Will pressed against him like a child after a nightmare, and Hannibal wondered if a new dose of painkillers was clouding his mind with sleep. He burrowed his head into Hannibal’s shoulder, mumbling quietly. Hannibal’s hand settled on the back of Will’s head, smoothing fingers over the lush curls. He planted a quick kiss on the top of Will’s head ardently, and Will nudged in Hannibal’s shoulder, mumbling louder. The smell of cheap shampoo drifted to Hannibal’s nose.

“You’ll have to speak more clearly if you want me to hear you, Will,” Hannibal said, a smile curling his lips. He pressed another kiss on the top of Will’s head and Will shifted to press his cheek against Hannibal’s chest.

“I’ve never known you to be shy, Hannibal.” Will muttered dryly. The dog padded back over and nudged at Will’s hand under the blanket then, trying to get his attention. He pulled away and planted a kiss on Hannibal’s neck. “Come on.” he muttered, leaning against Hannibal as he looked up to meet his eyes, chin on his chest. The rising sun lit the gold flecks in Will’s eyes, and Hannibal’s heart felt soft as he leaned in to kiss him. Will smiled into it, letting their lips touch chastely before pulling away and starting to laugh, teeth against lips until Hannibal pulled away, slightly affronted. “So not shy then? You’re trying to be polite. C’mon.” Will laughed, eyes crinkling and making Hannibal smile a little, too. Will stepped away and padded over to the cabin door and opened it, looking to Hannibal expectantly. The dog stood by Hannibal now, following and nosing at his hand, sniffing with trepidatious excitement. “Aw, see Hannibal?” Will asked, lip twisted up in a mordant smile. Will started down the stairs, pausing as he opened the door to the interior and turning and waiting expectantly for the pair to follow, the dog sniffing excitedly at Hannibal’s feet. “Winston _does_ remember you.”

* * *

They shuffled down to the interior of the boat and Will pointed to the two doors, labeling them.

“Bathroom,” he pointed to the door to their immediate right, across from the kitchen, his hand surfacing from under the blanket. “Bedroom, and there’s a closet in there,” he pointed straightforward. Hannibal paused, looking at the little bathroom. Will glanced back and saw, rolling his eyes. “Go on,” he said, turning back, pushing the bathroom door open. “but don’t take too long. We have a limited supply of freshwater, and the less salt water showers we have to take, the better.” Will flicked the light on, revealing the small bathroom.

It was not as cramped as he had expected. The walls of the interior were a glossy, well-polished wood that the bathroom shared. There was a sink and cabinet to the immediate left, indented and across from a toilet, and beige towels hung on the wall above it. Straight across from the entrance was the curved door shower, with some standing room and a shower seat.

“There are some basic toiletries in there,” Will said, nodding at the cabinet as he closed the door.

Hannibal turned on the water so it was a slow stream, and folded his clothes as he removed them. The shower was warm and soothing on his skin, the steam relaxing his muscles, though the smell of the cheap soap and shampoo wrinkled his nose a little. He headed Will’s words and didn’t stay in long, lamenting as the suds washed down the drain. He toweled off and searched the drawers under the sink and found packaged toothbrushes. There was a small laundry bin next to extra toilet paper in the cabinets, and he placed his clothes in it delicately, his waist wrapped in a towel. He looked at the wound in his stomach, healing nicely but still healing.

He started to go back to the deck to get his clothes, and then remembered Will had carried the bag to the interior. He glanced around the living room and found nothing. The bedroom door was slightly ajar, however, and so with slight hesitation that he pushed the door open. It was a tiny, rectangular room, a full sized bed situated in the back right corner took up most of the space. A wooden dresser sat next snugly next to it, Hannibal’s bag placed on the floor in front of it. The blanket Will had slumped around in was gone, likely tucked away in one of the drawers built into the frame of the bed, and there was a closet to his left that jutted a bit out of the wall. The interior outside the bedroom had a smell of polished wood and the sea, the faint smell of people covered mostly by them. The bedroom smelt of vanilla and clean linens, and he closed his eyes to inhale. Will was lying in the bed, blanket pulled up to his neck, curled towards the wall. Hannibal ran a hand through his hair and went to the bag, pulling out a pair of boxers and pulling them on, hanging the wet towel off the side of the dresser and looking for pajama pants when he heard Will shift in the bed, rolling around to face him.

“It’s cold, Hannibal. Come on.”

Hannibal paused, pajama bottoms in hand and Will scootched closer and sat up, taking Hannibal’s arm and tugging him down into a kiss. Their noses bumped together clumsily, and the kiss uncoordinated and almost broken as Hannibal climbed into the bed, but Will held them together, free hand grasping the back of Hannibal’s neck as Hannibal straddled him, keeping the kiss slow and controlled. Will bit Hannibal’s bottom lip, teeth dragging across skin, their lips parting together, devouring each other languidly. They parted only when they were out of breath, Hannibal with one hand on Will’s face, thumb drawing circles over Will’s cheekbone, around the forming scar, ghosting over and massaging around it, the other in his hair, delighting in silken curls. Will bit hard on Hannibal’s bottom lip and Hannibal’s grip tightened and he tugged Will back, nails dragging across his scalp, pulling them apart, heavy breaths dancing together. The grip was firm but not tight, tugging but not painful. Hannibal laid a trail of kisses across his cheek to the corner of his lips, on the side without the scar, then pulled him back by the hair, eyes meeting only briefly before Hannibal’s gaze lowered to Will’s throat.

“T-too...ugly?” Will breathed, challengingly.

“On the contrary, Will. You’re beautiful,” he said without hesitation. His gaze flickered back up to Will’s face; head tilted back and held firm in place in Hannibal’s grip, lips parted and face flushed. “I spent every day of my life waiting for us to stumble into each other’s worlds,”

Hannibal kissed under Will’s jaw, along the line of it, mouthing behind his ear, then kissed at the base of his neck, across his collarbone, hunching over, down his chest.

“No, nononono...” Will moaned, and Hannibal stopped, grip loosening in Will’s hair, straightening up to look at him.

“Will?”

“Switch with me. On your back.” he said, and Hannibal nodded, climbing off him and rolling over without pause, sitting up as Will climbed on top of him and ran his fingers through the soft blond strands of Hannibal’s hair. He leaned down and kissed him deeply, tongue diving against crooked teeth until Will pulled away, pressed the sides of their faces together, nestling the scruff of his face against smooth skin, leaning in and biting Hannibal’s throat, holding his face in his hand. Hannibal bared his throat with the softest moan and Will pushed him down so he was lying flat on his back. Will’s hand was forcefully affectionate on Hannibal’s face and he kept pressing more rough kisses to his lips, bit down his throat, rut pathetically against him as they shuddered.

“ _Will_...” his voice sounded heavy, accent thicker, his hand finding purchase on Will’s shoulder, the other clutching at the sheets as he laid sloppy kisses down the center of Hannibal’s chest, teeth dragging across skin, one hand crawling its nails down Hannibal’s ribs, his thumb pressing against the plush softness of Hannibal’s bottom lip, stroking over the top lip and down the bottom, skimming down teeth. Will pressed his thumb between Hannibal’s teeth and Hannibal bit it gently, tongue grazing against it.

Will kissed low on Hannibal’s belly, nipping above the waist band, and the room seemed to get quieter. Will’s hand slid down Hannibal’s neck to rest on his chest as Will drifted down, and realized after a pause that Hannibal had stopped breathing.  

“Hannibal?” Will chuckled low against Hannibal’s stomach, breath dancing warm against Hannibal’s skin, Will’s nose pressing below his navel. He laid another kiss there, and looked up at Hannibal. His eyes were closed, eyebrows raised up in an expression of submission; lips parted. Will curled a finger under the elastic of boxers down and pulled them it down an inch, pressed a kiss to Hannibal’s hip, soft and then again, just lower.

Will’s touch was nervous and bold, and his kisses were soft and his sighs perfectly timed. Hannibal let out low, desperate moans, and raised a hand to his mouth to press his teeth against it and stifle them. Will noticed and stopped, leaning forward and taking the hand, pressing a kiss to the palm, and another over the long scar down his wrist from Matthew Brown's attack, smudging his lips against it.

“I want to _hear_ you, Hannibal,” Will said, his voice deep and heavy. He pulled Hannibal’s boxers lower, out of the way, taking him in his hand.

“Will--ah,” Hannibal sighed.

Will bowed down, lips and hands working in tandem to pull another soft groan of his name from Hannibal, feeling a hand slid through his curls, not to pull, but caress. Will was merciless, using his hands and his mouth experimentally, watching Hannibal’s face through his eyelashes. Will felt Hannibal tug on his hair as he gave one final, soft gasp of breath. Will wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then his hand on the sheets. He pressed a kiss to the inside of Hannibal’s thigh and rolled over onto his side, a small, triumphant laugh escaping from his lips.

“Will,” Hannibal said, his voice heavy and emotional. Will looked at him and crawled back up to lean on his elbow next to Hannibal smiling; cheeks flushed with delight, kissing his shoulder before realizing that there were tears streaming slowly down Hannibal’s face. Will sat up and straddled him again, hunching over and taking Hannibal’s face in his hands, leveling their eyes. Hannibal didn’t look at him.

“Hannibal?” his thumb swiped at the trail a tear left down Hannibal’s face as he sniffed and made a face, his lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed. Without thinking, Will put the thumb in his mouth, tasting his pain.

“You are a cruel boy, Will.  _Quid me nutrit me destruit_.” Hannibal said, a sense of finality in his voice. “What nourishes me also destroyed me,” he sighed and took Will’s face in his hands, pulling Will’s head down so their foreheads were pressed together, Will’s eyes searching his face.

“D-did I do something wrong?” Will laughed, trying to drown out the apprehension in his voice. The boat rocked gently beneath them, and as moments crawled by he started to feel nauseous. He felt anxiety budding in his gut like barbed wire, flies of doubt buzzing loudly between his ears. Each moment pooled a drop of regret--he had pushed the fear from his head when he’d gone up the stairs to find Hannibal, and now it was rushing back.

Sex, to Will, was as complicated as it was simple. He’d fucked women he’d cared about, and fucked women he barely knew. It was coping, it was confirmation, it was lazy gratification. But for Will, it was always with women. _Was_.

His relationship with Hannibal had blurred lines from the start--  Friends, fathers, enemies, killers,from just having conversations to participation. Hannibal had never allowed lines to form between them for long, Bedelia and Molly acting more firmly as dividers but even then, failing.

Love was a trickier subject for Will. Hannibal had never been a part of the plan. There had been no real decision made for him he rolled out of bed to seek Hannibal out, just as there bad been none made the day he’d stood in Hannibal’s office, burning patient files and thinking of the possibilities here. He had been anxious enough, worried for long enough, that he had come to accept that he couldn’t know what he’d do. The moment would come, and he would act, and he would have to see what he chose with as much surprise as anyone else. There had been no for second guessing, no planning when he went out to find Hannibal. Sitting in the bed, Hannibal perched above him, he’d suddenly realized what he wanted. He’d known Hannibal wanted him too, known he’d always wanted this, but...  

“No, good Will.” Hannibal said finally, inhaling slowly. “I wondered for the first time what emptiness might have embraced me had we never met. Our meeting could be no simple act of serendipity,”

“You mean fate? Our God doesn’t intervene,” he said, but his fear was easing.

“Not God, Will. Our souls, seeking kinship, finding each other in the darkness. You asked me before if I loved you, Will. But we are more than love. I see you.”

“I see you, Hannibal.” Will breathed, eyes meeting. Will kissed him deeply, then laid his head on Hannibal’s chest.


	7. Will

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! This is the end! I hope you enjoy the ending, thank you so much for sticking around.

It was late spring in Vienna, Austria, and the crowd milling through the streets was thin and agreeable. The sun was hidden behind thin spread clouds, and though the day was drawing to an end, the chill of the early morning had yet to return. The shops on Ringstrasse were outlines with bushels of green; planters overflowing with verdure and the heavy blossoms of April carrying on their fluid dance in the soft breeze of May though hotel Le Méridien was a fine exception. Its exterior was afforded a cleaner, more colonial cleanliness that reminded Will vaguely of Boston. The interior was a contrast; the floor black and white marble with beautiful near-minimalist read and cream furniture in its lobby. The sun shone through the veil of thin curtains and the evening air flowed in through the open windows.

He was lying diagonally back across the bed, the maroon sheets cleanly made and tucked into place, his sprouting curls spread brilliantly across the bed below the pillows. His left hand rested easily on his stomach above his navel, his steel blue dress shirt pushed up so that his hand rested on bare skin, his fingers splayed absent-mindedly over the scar. The noises of the street, quiet bustling at the approach of evenfall underscored by the soft vocals of _Vide Cor Meum_ , blew into the room as he was tried to remember the difference between chest and abdominal breathing. His other hand stretched out next to him, quantifying the empty space on the queen-sized bed. He arched his back and stretched his legs out, a few joints popping quietly as he pressed his feet flat against the mattress, curling his toes against the comforter as a soft moan of gratification slipped between his lips.

“Are you showing off, Will?”

Hannibal’s voice roused him back to attention; his eyes snapped open and he saw that the light he had thought was still streaming through the window was nearly faded out, twilight was fast approaching. He turned his head towards the door and saw Hannibal coming in the door, his hair still wet from swimming laps in the hotel’s indoor pool. He stopped by the left side of the bed near Will’s head, blocking the fading light from the windows to look down at Will, his expression ardent. He leaned down, face hovering a foot or so above Will’s as if to kiss him, but held the posture, though Will knew if he did so for too long the muscles might grow tight and make him regret it later.

“Only stretching. I didn’t hear you come in.” Will admitted, blue-green eyes staring up into the crimson-hazel ones above him, framed by small wrinkles. Hannibal’s hair, like Will’s, had grown out longer but had been recently trimmed so even at it’s worst it could not slip into his eyes. He’d slicked it back with a hand as he always did after climbing out of the pool, but a few pieces were straying away now, falling over his forehead. “But I can show off if you’d like.” He teased in a soft chuckle, the hand on his stomach slipping up over his chest, leading the shirt to ride up further.

The scar puckered out fine and pink, and as he stared into Hannibal’s eyes his fingers slid back down to it, running up and down over the ridge it made across his stomach. Hannibal sometimes rubbed vitamin E over it, as he often did to the scars on Will’s face and as Will did over his. It made no difference on his here, except maybe moisturizing the skin and leaving it softer under embraces later. Will suspected he simply enjoyed the act; the shining, stick oil spread deftly across Will’s abdomen that often smeared up across his chest or down past his navel.

Hannibal’s breath ghosted down over Will’s face, hot and comforting, his eyes skimming over Will’s hand on his stomach, now sliding back up under the shirt tauntingly. He leaned further down pressed a kiss at the corner of Will’s lips, and then another on the other side. He began to straighten up but Will, who was getting more aroused than he’d meant to, strained his head off the bed an inch to press their lips together firmly, pushing up a more insistently when Hannibal started to pull away, if only by a millimeter. He could taste the salt of the pool on Hannibal’s lips, the smell of it thick in his nose. A blush of warmth spread over his cheeks as Hannibal indulged him, bracing a hand against the black comforter to gain purchase and press Will’s head back into the bed as the kiss grew heavier.

Will’s scruff had grown out thick into a short beard that ticked Hannibal’s face when they kissed though it did something to cover the scar on Will’s cheek. Will’s hand rose up from where it spread across the empty mattress and rested on the back of Hannibal’s neck, and he keened when Hannibal, still standing, slipped his kisses down to graze teeth over his neck. His heart jumped when he felt a warm hand on his stomach over his, sliding underneath his fingers and over the expanse of skin, teasing under the shirt as Will had before.

Hannibal pressed another long kiss to his lips and then straightened up and combed his hair back with his hand again, the other teasing across the waistband of Will’s pants.

“Perhaps later,” Hannibal said with regret, the tormenting hand at Will’s waistband sliding up to card fingers through Will’s hair. “We are on a schedule, as you well know.” Will caught his hand as he moved to turn away.

“ _Your_ schedule.” Will reminded him. “Not mine. We can go tomorrow, or the next day, or not at all.” He said, trying to tug Hannibal back to him.

“Chiyoh will not keep forever, and I am sure Winston grows more certain of abandonment by the day.” He slid out of Will’s grip and out into the bathroom outside the bedroom and Will sighed as he heard the shower turn on. “Though I am impressed dressing you required so little persuasion.”

“You told me to be ready when you got back, so I’m ready,” Will said, sitting up and following to stand at the door to the bathroom, where Hannibal was getting undressed. “Let me.” He stepped forward and unbuttoned Hannibal’s pants, looking at Hannibal through his eyelashes. Hannibal looked amused, clearly seeing right through him. Will let the pants puddle at Hannibal’s feet, and then reached over to palm at Hannibal through his boxers.

“You’re already dressed, Will.” Hannibal moved away, walking into the shower stall and pulling the door closed behind him, effectively ending the conversation. Will sighed, leaving the bathroom door closed behind him, and moved to rifle through his duffle bag, where he pulled out a thick manila envelope and plopped into a deep red chair in the living room. He slid the old magazine out, smiling faintly at the familiar headline.

 

 

> **HANNIBAL LECTER’S FORMER PSYCHIATRIST UNVIELED AS ACCOMPLICE**

 

Getting it had been risky, but in the end, wholly worth it. He had told Hannibal that once they’d settled down, he’d frame it. He wasn’t joking. It was too sweet, knowing that Bedelia, dead or alive, would be remembered forever as their abettor. It had been enough for Hannibal to know that she would be indicted for their escape, but for Will exposing her involvement Hannibal’s first disappearance to Florence and their joint escape was paramount: Bedelia, who lied and profited off of feigned innocence, would now suffer for her guilt, true and invented. Her word, which had once been valued and respected, diminished, her voice weakened. No drugs around to save her story now, and at the least she would be blamed for Jack’s murder.

In exchange for any and all articles printed in relation to Bedelia Du Maurier and the continued discretion in relation to Abigail’s story—which, in the wake of Will and Hannibal’s obvious escape together, was of all the more interest as people attempted to chart the formation of the storm they created—Will and Hannibal extended Freddie Lounds the curtsey of the occasional letter; one which was for her eyes only, and dictated the address of a P.O. Box a city or so from where Hannibal and Will were staying, and the continued assurance that her life was in no danger, at least not from them. The second letter was always written with the explicit agreement that she be allowed to publish it. They had sent here two sets of letters of such a nature so far, the first from Will and the second from Hannibal sent always to her home address in-transit on their move from one place to another, their route carefully mapped out, a P.O. Box in the next region already waiting. It was risky, and often Will argued not worth it. That said, he knew the letters would be added condemnation upon Bedelia, who would remain forever in the box of his mind, Schrodinger’s stupid cat. There was another magazine, tucked carefully among his things, he found he was almost as favorable as the ones in relation to Bedelia—though the ones concerning her were his favorites, this issue was a close third.

 

 

> FORMER ADMINISTRATOR OF MARYLAND INSTUTION MISSING 
> 
>  

_Oh, Chilton_.  _Always in the wrong place at the wrong time._

They had been settled in Austria for over a month, now, though they had only resided in the hotel for about a week. Before that they’d stayed in apartments in Favoriten, the tenth district, an urban area surrounded by parks where blending in was easy. Here, they had to be more conscientious; smaller crowds meant familiar faces. Hannibal had suggested plastic surgery, anything from bone shaving to Botox injections. Will had been struck by the suggestion, and had dismissed it.

“I’ve had enough knives in my face.” He’d replied shortly, his lip twitching at the suggestion.

“Nonetheless; it might be beneficial if I were to undergo such a process. My face is more recognized than yours, and no doubt the two of us together—“

“No, Hannibal. I don’t—I don’t care about scars, or aging or—or _whatever_ but…surgery? Botox? I don’t like it. I don’t like the idea of either of us doing something like that.”

            Hannibal had frowned at that, lips slightly pursed at Will’s immobility on the subject. He’d agreed to, _okay, maybe_ , grow out his hair, or else have it all shorn off, and make what little use of the Creole French he’d learned in New Orleans he could in Europe, though he was a quick learner, and this benefited them in travel.

            Hannibal emerged from the shower in a storm of warmth and steamy air, half dressed, towel over his bare shoulders. The smell of musky shampoo wafted out with him and Will closed his eyes to remember the smell. A thought occurred to Will and he paused, surprised at himself for only just now considering the thought.

            “Hannibal, I want to leave Austria tonight.”

Hannibal turned to regard him, surprised at his sudden declaration, if not for the sentiment but the sureness of it.

            “Why is that, dear Will?”

            “Because, Hannibal, as ripe as you are for the reclamation of _borrowed time_ , it’s just occurred to me that I’m not ready to adopt another person’s child quite yet. Especially if _I’m_ the one orphaning them in the first place. Alana can wait."

            Hannibal had a mixed expression of pleasure and disappointment.

            “I had wondered how long it would take you to think of the child.”

            Will sighed and stood, discarding the old magazine on the table. He went to Hannibal, taking hold of each side of the towel draped on him, tugging on the ends gently and kissing him, if only to hide the disappointment in his partner’s face. He hoped Hannibal could taste the love on his lips more than his hesitation.

            “A year, Hannibal. Give me a year with you, just you, and us, our wrath unchained by the responsibilities of children.” Will pleaded softly, laying his head on Hannibal’s shoulder.

            “They will likely have gone from here in a year,” Hannibal replied, his voice not unkind.

            “Then we’ll find them, Hannibal. Or we won’t. She'll be running for the rest of her life, isn't that enough?” He could feel his words finally weakening Hannibal’s resolve. “I don't want their leftovers and Margot doesn't have anything to do with it." He lifted his head to press a kiss to Hannibal's collarbone, letting the words sink in the air between them. He'd made the point about Margot once before, and Hannibal had found it only passingly pausing. But then, this time, he had yet to breach his main selling point. "Besides," he added, straightening up to press their foreheads together. "I think I’d like another girl.”           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this journey with me!  
> I hope you guys who've enjoyed the story, especially those who've been following me for the beginning, tell me how you feel about the end!  
> You can always find me [here](http://ourdeathswillstopnothing.tumblr.com), on my Tumblr.


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